If I Just Saved You (You Could Save Me Too)
by justsomebrittanagleek
Summary: It's not much of a life, she knows, but it's the only one she's got and she's living it.
1. Chapter 1

**Title:** If I Just Saved You (You Could Save Me Too) [1/4]  
**Characters:** Santana Lopez, Brittany Pierce, Puck, Finn, Karofsky and Jesse  
**Rating:** R  
**Word Count: **11.8k  
**Summary: **It's not much of a life, she knows, but it's the only one she's got and she's living it.

**Notes:** Another random prompt I came up with. Title from You Me At Six's song _No One Does It Better. _Only a 3 or 4 parter, and I have most of it done but this has been lingering around in my documents for a while so I wanted to get it out there for all my readers who were disappointed that I put my other fic on hold.

/

Grantsville is a small town west of Salt Lake City.

It's also been Santana's home since she was eighteen.

She moved here from New York. Yeah, big change, she knows, but if she'd stayed in the city she would've been dragged into the drug dealing business her brother got into after their parents died, and she just wasn't up for that. She didn't want to be her brother and sure, what she does now isn't that big of an improvement, but it's not drug dealing, and as far as she knows, it's not illegal either so it's okay.

She spends every night at the only bar in Grantsville, making a living by kicking the crap out of guys who think they can take her in the metal cage that takes up the majority of the building, and then spends half the winnings on bottle after bottle of scotch, trying to drink away memories and thoughts with the liquor.

It's not much of a life, she knows, but it's the only one she's got and she's living it, which is more than she can say for her parents.

Shit. She's such a bastard.

Just like any other night, she wanders into the place around seven and heads to the bar. Her best friend Puck's cleaning glasses behind it when she gets there, and he's already sliding a glass of scotch over the bar top as her ass hits the stool. He's talking to another customer and she takes a long sip of the amber liquid, pulling it back and staring as it sloshes around the glass, moving in ripples as the liquor settles in her stomach, making her throat buzz.

He comes over a few minutes later, throwing a dirty rag over his shoulder and braces his palms each side of Santana on the bar, leaning forward. It means he's got something to tell her and she lifts her head, an eyebrow going with it as their eyes meet.

"Some tough guy came in for you today," he says, eyes flitting around the area behind her. She would look, but she knows no-one's stupid enough to come up and bother her whilst she's talking to Puck. "Says he can beat anyone. Especially a girl." She shoots him a sharp look and he backs away, raising his hands defensively. "His words, not mine."

Santana's jaw clamps and somewhere in the back of her mind, she registers the doors to the bar swinging open, a cool breeze rushing in and crawling down her spine only a second later. She continues to stare at the man in front of her, wondering whether she's up for a fight tonight, then diverts her sight to the glass of scotch in front of her.

Today she only went into town and helped Mrs. Corcoran, the closest thing she has to an auntie, with a few errands, so it's not like she doesn't have the energy, she doesn't know if she can be bothered. Her face has only just healed up from last week's big man who thought he could kick her ass, but she supposes it's money.

"How much?"

Puck lifts his chin but his eyes drift off to the left, and Santana follows it to find a blonde woman, a stunning one at that, shaking the snow from her shoulders and hair as she slides on to a stool at the opposite end of the bar.

"Five hundred," he tells her, still focused on the woman.

She must be new. No-one apart from regulars ever come in here, and if they do, the moment they see the inhabitants of a bar like this, they're straight out the door. This girl's got guts, she has to admit.

Santana turns her attention back to her friend, snapping her fingers in front of his face. His eyes dart back to her. "His name?"

"Karofsky. You in?"

She lifts her glass, pouring the rest of her scotch down her throat and wincing as it settles in her stomach before nodding. "I'm game. Get him up there."

Puck eyes her but just ends up nodding.

/

She's already standing in the ring, wrapping a roll of tape around her hands and knuckles when she hears the entrance to the cage squeak, signaling someone coming in.

She flexes her fingers when the roll's finished, cricking her neck from left to right and jumping up and down on the spot to warm up. She's dressed in her standard fighting outfit, black wife beater and scuffed jeans and she's still facing the back of the cage when someone coughs behind her. A smirk comes across her face and she turns slowly, immediately eyeing her opponent whilst stretching her arms over her body.

He's beefy, and he's got muscles on him, sure, but he's not really a challenge. He might have his size as an advantage, but that just means he's slow and Santana has agility and skill on her side. Guys like this always think because they're big they can kick anyone's ass', but in a few short minutes, he's going to proved horribly wrong. And by the looks of things, in front of his mates, too

The bell rings to the side and the guy—Karofsky, she thinks—snarls as he bumbles over to her, arms wide and fists clenched. But Santana's focus is sharp today, her moves on point and she drowns out the noise around her as she zones into her opponent, eyeing the way his left leg seems a little heavier, knee bending further than the right one. It's his weak spot, a past muscle injury possibly, and she takes note of it as she ducks the first cautious thrown at her.

He seems a little startled that she can move that fast and on the next one punch he attempts, she dodges, ducks, darts and delivers a blow to his lower ribs, making him jerk backwards and curl up in pain. He chokes a little, anger clear in his eyes and moves toward her again, swinging his fists here, there and everywhere, catching her in the jaw once and on the arm another time. The pain isn't enough to be a distraction, and she clicks her tongue as he tries to head butt her when she gets a little close. Asshole.

Adrenaline bursts through her and she slides to the left, swinging her leg out quickly and catching the back of his left knee, making him buckle to the floor after letting out a grunt. She smirks because this is definitely his weak spot and she keeps her chin tucked, fists up as he rises to his feet and tries to slice at her head. He misses obviously, and she doesn't even hesitate in cracking him in the jaw, beneath the chin, in the temple and then grabbing his shoulders, twisting him and locking her arms around his head as her knee comes up, striking him hard in the lower abdomen.

There's a few gasps from the crowd watching in, and she knows she's got this. A few more punches, maybe a kick too, and Karofsky will be down. An easy five hundred dollars.

Karofsky stumbles back, clutching at his chest and so out of breath he has to bend over and try to catch it, but she's not up for waiting. She's not up for playing fair, most guys don't in this ring, and so she lunges forward and elbows him hard high on his spine, knocking him flat to the ground where he smacks his forehead and passes out. It may not be a knock out, but it's close enough and the bell rings again, signaling her win.

Her bloodied knuckles throb as she pushes against the swing door on the cage, and she stumbles out of it, heading straight for the bar where three glasses of scotch are lined up, waiting for her. It's standard routine after a fight, and even though Puck eyes her from behind the bar, concerned, worried, scared for her, every single time, she throws them down her throat and lets the low buzzing take over her ears as the alcohol takes effect.

Except this time, as she begins to unwrap the tape from her hands, ignoring the dull ache of her knuckles from where she's broken a few in the past, she notices another pair of eyes on her. A lighter pair. A bluer pair.

She just ignores the stare, though.

Guaranteed she'll never see that girl again.

/

The next week, the same thing happens.

Some douche comes in thinking he can take her down and this time his name's Finn Hudson. According to Puck he's thick as shit, apparently he knew him from high school, and she smirks and downs two glasses of scotch before tapping her fists against the bar and telling him that she's going to start prepping for the fight.

She uses another roll of tape around her knuckles, knowing at some point she's going to break her knuckles so many times she won't be able to use her hand but can't find it in herself to care all that much. That's pretty bad considering she's in her mid twenties, but so what? Not like she's going to live that long anyway. Not at the rate she's going.

The fight starts and she has to admit, Finn's fucking _huge_in size, but he's got a baby face and sure, looks like he can be a spiteful dick at times but otherwise he doesn't come across dangerous.

And as Santana's left fist connects with his jaw, she realizes he isn't. He pushes at her uselessly and she actually laughs as he tries to tower over her with what must be a menacing glare. To her it looks like he ate some bad sushi last night, but his eyes flare and fists curl against his pants, so she figures it must at least be menacing to him.

He gets in one punch, just one, and it's only enough to make her head tilt, but it's still enough to piss her off so she makes quick work of him. Her right hand jabs at his stomach repeatedly, and her left delivers a sharp blow to his jaw. Blood drips down his chin, and he spits it out on to the floor at the same time she takes a breather, jogs on the spot and punches into the air, taunting him and pissing him off.

Tonight's only worth a hundred dollars but she's feeling a little happier today, so she makes it into a joke as she tips his chin gently after he's fallen to his knees, watches his eyes beg with her the moment before she brings her forehead hard against his until he's lying flat out on his back, a dazed look in his eyes.

Then his eyes shut as he passes out from the pain and she stands up straight, mostly satisfied by the appearance of her opponent. His eye's already swelling, his lip cut and bleeding, his hair is matted with blood too and he's knocked out so yeah, that's pretty good for a hundred dollars.

The bell rings and she makes her way out, unwrapping the tape around her fists and pressing the tips of her fingers to her jaw where Finn caught her. It's gonna swell no doubt, probably a bruise but she heals pretty quickly so it's not big deal.

What is a big deal though, is when she gets to the bar, she notices Puck at the end of the bar...

...talking to the blonde girl from the previous week.

It's not _that_ that pisses her off though, it's the way they both stare at her the moment she slides on to her usual stool, quickly downing two of three glasses of scotch. It's the way both their eyes stay on her as she leans over the bar to grab a few cubes of ice, dumping it into a napkin and pressing it against the curve of her jaw. Because she knows that look. She's seen it a million times. She used to see it in her parents eyes whenever her brother would take her out for a 'joy ride,' and the same one they used to give her when she and her brother would come home after, her brother wielding a wad of cash in his hand from his trade of the night.

It's the same look she gets from Puck every single time she stumbles from that cage, and ugh, she really doesn't fucking need that right now. She doesn't need that concern, or worry, and she especially doesn't need it from some new chick that only first wandered into the bar last week.

So she ignores it, and just keeps drinking.

/

Four days later and she's sitting at the bar, sipping a beer this time—she's going all out tonight apparently—talking to Puck when the doors to the building are kicked open, slamming against the wooden walls and making the bar vibrate. It's a shitty, cheap bar, so it's not that much of a surprise, but still, no-one ever really uses that much force and she turns, finding a tall guy with curly brown hair and a strong jaw line there, hands down by his side and eyes narrowed, searching the bar.

He's not exactly doing much, nor is he very interesting, so she just rolls her eyes and faces Puck again, beginning the conversation where they left off.

"So, yeah, what about this chick?"

Puck doesn't seem to have the same idea though because he's staring at the door, lips parted and brows scrunched in the middle of his forehead.

"Oi, Puckerman?" She continues, rapping her knuckles against the counter top but the only movement made by the bartender is his eyes.

They trail slowly as if he's following someone and as soon as those eyes lock at the space above Santana's head, she gets curious. She cocks her head and narrows her eyes, but by the time her mouth opens to ask her friend what the hell he's staring at, there's a sharp finger jabbing into her right shoulder-blade.

Like she said before, no-one's usually stupid enough to come up to her and she spins around, lifting an eyebrow with it and already scowling to tell them just that when she comes face to face with the guy who was at the door. He glares down at her, towering slightly and she thinks he's trying to be scary, but that sure isn't working and she just ends up bobbing her head, conveying the 'what the fuck do you want' before her mouth can form the words.

Except he doesn't get the point, and she ends up having to say it anyway.

"Yo, slime ball, back up off my grill," she flicks her fingers toward him. "I'm trying to breathe here and your cologne is making that hard."

He keeps his place though, clenching his jaw repeatedly. "Are you Santana Lopez?"

She lets her eyes flit to Puck but he just shrugs, answering the question that isn't asked.

"Uh, yeah."

"You met my friend Dave a few weeks ago."

"I don't know a Dave," she fires back, turning in her her stall. A hand latches on to her shoulder, tugging her back around harshly and she shoots off the stool, lifting her chin and snarling at the guy, whilst a few people in the bar stop talking, stop drinking, and stare. People who fuck Santana Lopez off don't stay conscious for long. "The fuck do you want?"

"I'm Jesse St. James and I'm here for you."

She laughs in his face. "What you gonna do pretty boy?"

He lowers his head, meeting her glare and mirroring it. "I'm gonna kick your ass, bitch. What do you say? A thousand dollars as a wager. Winner takes all."

It's how it usually works, and she almost makes a scathing remark about how duh, obviously the winner takes all, but he's already cracking his knuckles and shrugging out of his jacket, slowly backing away toward the cage. Santana just turns, finishes the rest of her beer and raises both eyebrows at Puck as in a 'see you in five' as she makes her way to the metal ring, cracking her neck and rolling her shoulders.

She could do with a thousand dollars.

/

Turns out this Jesse kid has had some type of fight training.

This has happened before, so it doesn't shock her too much but it does mean she takes more hits than usual.

The first hit she takes is a knee to the hip. She curls over, clutching at the throbbing area but knows she can't dwell on the pain too much 'cause guys don't give her a break or a breather, and she knows too well how a strike in the position can knock a girl out so she begins darting the kicks and punches thrown. On one particular one, she ducks and comes back up, swinging her left fist and catching a decent punch to the side of Jesse's face, making blood spurt from his mouth as his lip splits. He winces but gets straight back in, raising his fists by his face and bobbing his head from side to side, trying to catch her out.

And he succeeds. She jabs and he catches her fist, wrapping strong fingers around it and yanking it toward him as he brings his head down and slams it against hers, making her stagger backward, her skull throbbing and hand coming up to cup it. Hot, sticky liquid coats her fingers and she winces, but the adrenaline blocks the pain and she jumps straight back into action, delivering four hard uppercuts beneath his ribs, making him jerk and cough against the pain.

He's skilled, Santana will give him that, but she's faster and used to this style of fighting so she knows how to play unfair. It's part of cage fighting and she lunges forward, feigning a punch with her left fist whilst her right knee comes up, hitting him hard in the groin and making him buckle to the floor. Cheap shot, but so what? He's already got her in the head at least three times and she's pretty sure there's a piece of flesh hanging from her eyebrow so a kick in the balls is nothing.

Jesse groans, falling to his knees, Santana smirks and makes her final move, tipping his chin, flashing her winning smirk and holding the back of his skull as her knee comes up to his face, cracking and breaking his nose and making it pour with blood as he's knocked out, falling back. One of her eyes closes as blood continues to slide down her face, making sure it doesn't get inside, and she waits for the bell to ring, signaling her win before she stumbles toward the exit, falling into it and barging it open.

Puck rushes around the bar, noticing the state she's in and catches her beneath the shoulders as he falls into her. Everything hurts, and she's panting hard and heavy as he drags her back to the bar, propping her up on the stool and against the counter top. Her arms slump down in front of her, and she crinkles her nose against the thousands of stinging and throbbing aches in her face. She really need a fucking ice pack. Maybe a few stitches. A sandwich, too. She hasn't eaten all day.

"Ice pack and cloth," she grunts.

"Here," Puck says from the other side of the bar a minute later, but she can't see from the blood gushing from above her right eye and lifts a hand, blindly swiping but coming up with nothing. But then two hands push at her knees, separating her thighs and a warm body steps between them. She's about to ask what the fuck Puck is doing getting so close to her when she flits her vision to the person and finds someone else. Someone blonde and actually, rather fucking gorgeous. Someone most definitely _not_Puck.

It's the girl from the other night, and the week before.

What the hell?

"Here," she murmurs over the bar and Santana watches as Puck hands the ice pack toward her. "Do you have a first aid kit as well please, Noah?"

"Sure. I'll get for you."

Santana sits there, watching and wonders just how close these two are when something damp is pressed to her eyebrow. She jerks back, but a hand grabs her bicep and keeps her steady as it begins wiping over the stinging wound, probably to clean it and rid the blood away and she just stays silent, wondering why the hell some chick is helping her. She didn't ask for help and she doesn't fucking need it.

"Stop," she demands, pulling away. "I don't need your help. I'm not a fucking charity case."

"I don't think you're a charity case," the blonde girl retorts, eyes sharp and focused on dark ones, wiping movements stopped. "I think you're bleeding and I'm helping you 'cause you just got the crap kicked out of you."

Santana sniffs. "Did not. I won that, didn't I?"

"Barely. He got some good shots in at you."

"Yeah, and who's on the floor knocked out and who's on the stool conscious right now?"

The blonde clicks her tongue and resumes, but Santana pulls away again, almost toppling off the stool. Shit. She's really fucking light-headed.

"Would you stay still and stop being so difficult?" The blonde girl hisses, and Santana finds it strangely adorable at how anger doesn't seem to suit this girl, but doesn't let it show and instead glowers intensely, snatching her hand out and wrapping her bloodied fingers around a pale wrist as the cloth reaches for her face again.

"I'm only being difficult because I have a stranger touching me," she points out.

Blue eyes roll and the girl shifts again, trying to press the cloth to Santana's forehead again but Santana holds strong, making the blonde say, "God, you're stubborn! Just let me clean you up!"

"I don't need anyone to clean me up, I can do it myself."

"You're just about falling off the stool, so I doubt it," the girl fires back, eyeing Santana's body swaying lightly.

And it's true, the only reason Santana's actually staying up right now is because a pale hand is clutched around her arm, propping her up, so she just clamps her tongue and shuts up. She's just had the crap kicked out of her, she doesn't really need to start an argument. She doubts she even has the damn energy to.

Silence settles between them as the girl finishes wiping the blood, and Puck hands her a bag of ice, where she lifts it and pushes it against the wound, trying to keep the swelling down. A hisses pushes through Santana's lips at the temperature and she jerks, but the hand keeping her steady flexes, almost soothingly.

"Hold this," the girl tells her, and she does it immediately, shocked that she didn't argue. And Santana tries not to stare at the girl as she reaches into the first aid pack Puck slides over to her, but it's kind of hard not to. She's just right there and Santana's got eyes, the girl's fucking attractive, so why shouldn't she have a good old gaze? After all, this chick's actually giving a crap about her and as much as she hates to admit it, it's kind of nice. Warming, almost.

Long, slender fingers pick up a pack of steri strips, and Santana stays silent, taking in creamy skin, light freckles and eyes that are just so blue she could get lost in them if they were staring into her own. Luckily though, they're focused on the job at hand, which just happens to be laying a few of the strips over the wound as a hand nudges the ice pack from her face.

"Why do you do it?"

Santana blinks and meets the girls stare. "Do what?" She says, softer than intended.

Pink lips quirk at the tone, but slowly drop again as she speaks. "Fight. Why do you do it?"

Santana lifts her shoulders in a half shrug, realizing just how much that actually hurts to do and bites down on her lip, realizing that it's swollen when she does so. Shit. Where did that Jesse kid not get her? "It's good money."

"You can make money other ways."

Her jaw clenches. "Not in this deadbeat town."

"Why don't you just move then?" The girl offers, applying the strips with a tender touch. "You could get out of here, get a real job and earn money like that instead of taking punches for cash."

"I'm not a punching bag," Santana spits back, annoyance bubbling inside of her. She doesn't get who this girl is or why she thinks she has the damn right to question Santana's life.

Five minutes ago they didn't even know each other. They hadn't even spoken a word and actually, she still doesn't even know the blonde's name.

Why does this girl think it's okay to start saying shit like this? It's just not cool. So fuck this, she's gonna speak her mind.

"And no offense, lady, but you don't know my life," she continues, lowly. A little pissed off, too. "You don't know who I am and as of two weeks ago, I'd never seen you before, and Grantsville ain't that big which means you're new and don't know that once you're here, you're stuck. You don't get out."

Blue eyes burn a hole into her head until she's forced to meet them. The blonde girl's jaw is clenched, her eyes narrowed and eyebrows low, but she doesn't look pissed off. She looks like she feels sorry for Santana and fuck, she hates that. Sympathy is the stupidest fucking emotion and it makes her want to punch something when people show it towards her. Although she really doesn't want to punch this girl. Not at all. Maybe just scowl at her instead.

Finally, the girl exhales and shakes her head, stepping back to admire the steri strip but deciding it's not quite right and stepping between Santana's legs again, fingers peeling them off and reapplying them. "You know, my grandad had a place up here," the blonde whispers. "He died a few weeks back and left me the house."

"So? Am I supposed to feel sorry for you or something?"

Brittany stops her movement, stares down at her. "A decent person would."

"Well, sorry to upset you, Blondie, but that ain't me."

"It could be you. If you wanted to be. You just need someone—"

She doesn't need to hear the rest of the sentence to know she doesn't want to know what it is. So she backs away from the girls hand, sliding off the stool and steadying herself with her palm on the bar top. Puck eyes her from behind it, but Santana ignores him, instead keeping her voice low and serious as she glares hard and heavy at the girl.

"I don't need anyone," she starts, anger grinding within. "I don't need anyone new in my life, especially _you_, some random ass chick that likes to play Samaritan, and I don't need you trying to perform some bullshit act and try to save me or whatever. I'm okay with the way I live. I fight for a living, I get drunk and pass out on my sofa. I've done it since I was 18 years old and I've done it ever since." She takes a breather and pushes her tongue against her teeth at the way blue eyes bore into her own ones. "Okay? I don't need to be saved, and I don't need you to try and even attempt it. I'm fine. I'm cool. Got it?"

It's harsh, but she needs the girl to know. She doesn't get emotional attached, hell, she doesn't have freaking emotions as far as she's concerned.

And it seems the girl sees a lost cause when she sees one because she lowers her eyes, sucks in her bottom lip and nods slowly, placing the packaging of the steri strips on to the bar top and just walks away.

Just like that.

/

The thing is—

It's just—

Shit.

She does need someone.

Desperately, actually.

But letting someone in... Giving herself to them and trusting them with all her fears, and showing them the reason behind why she's so damn guarded—

She just can't.

She just can't even begin to imagine it.

Sure, it's a lonely life.

But it's just the one she leads.

And it's the only one she's got.

/

Hours later, she's stumbling through a thin layer of snow, holding her jacket tight to her chest to fight the chill in the air, drunk out her mind.

Everything's blurry around the edges. Everything seems to be moving faster than she is but she's enjoying that low buzzing in her ears. Her mouth is thick, and throat too, but she's sort of enjoying that as well.

It's weird, because she never gets this drunk, but after the meeting and conversation with that blonde... She just needed to forget.

Forget what? Even she's not entirely sure.

But here she is, tripping up the step to her door and squinting as she pokes her key at the lock. It's moving though, darting from left to right and despite the intense focus and growing frustration, the damn thing just doesn't seem to be going in. After a few more tries, she just gives up and turns around back hitting the door and legs giving out so she slides down it. The air is cold, really fucking cold and she knows if she doesn't get inside she'll just pass out here.

But she can't even move, she just doesn't have the energy. The fight took it all out of her and she won't lie, she's hurting a lot more than she expected.

Then everything goes black.

/

The next morning she wakes up to bright streams of sunlight filtering in from the cracks in the blind and an unfamiliar scent wafting up into her nostrils. She winces against the light, groggily propping herself up on to one elbow and lifting the opposite hand to block the brightness from her eyes. It fucking hurts and she wonders why in hindsight she didn't shut the damn thing.

But then it all comes rushing back to her, and she remembers that she never even made it into her house. She was just too drunk and the damn key wouldn't go in the lock so she passed out on the porch.

And as her squinting eyes roam around the room around her, she realizes she has absolutely no idea where the fuck she is now.

Not to mention she has a banging headache, half what she supposes is the hangover and half what she will never admit out loud, is probably due to the fight she had yesterday. Pretty sure she was concussed and now her temple is rippling with pain and mixed with the hangover... This is just pure shit.

Throwing the sheet aside, she reluctantly swings her legs out of bed, immediately glancing down and finding that she's wearing her clothes from yesterday. They're stained with dry blood and her head snaps around to the bed—a movement she quickly regrets as it sends a throb of pain pulsing through her brain—but doesn't find any transferred stains on the crisp, white sheets. Thank fuck for that. Explaining it to whoever's house this is would be pretty awkward.

As she runs her hands through her hair and makes her way to the bedroom door, she spots a pile of clothes on the dresser beside it. There's a little note too, and she tilts her head to the side at the writing. She doesn't know whose it is.

Seriously, where the fuck is she?

Still, she takes a step toward it and picks the piece of paper up between her thumb and forefinger, eyes roaming over it.

_Just some clean clothes if you want them - B_

Santana flicks her vision toward the clothes, seeing the Fleetwood Mac t-shirt folded on top of grey sweatpants and decides it'd probably be best to put them on. Whoever 'B' is is clearly nice enough to let her stay the night and take her time to put them out so yeah, she'll put them on.

After slipping into them, she warily makes her way out the bedroom, stopping at the doorway and looking each way down the hall since she has absolutely no idea where she's going. She decides to turn left after lifting her nose and sniffing to find a strong smell of coffee coming from that way and wanders down there, only coming up to find a small kitchen, void of anyone else.

Shit. This is so going to turn out to be one of those weird ass horror movies isn't it.

Just as the thought passes her mind, she hears the clicks of a lock and spins around, watching as the front door swings open to reveal—

"Blondie?"

The blonde girl from the bar saunters in, a brown grocery bag hitched at her hip as she kicks the door shut, basically ignoring Santana as she skips through the living room and joins her in the kitchen. Santana just watches, eyes narrowing and confusion building as she watches the other girl unpack her groceries, otherwise doing nothing to acknowledge that Santana's even standing there in the room with her.

Maybe she should speak first. After all, she was kind of rude to this girl last night.

The apology is on the tip of her tongue, and she steps further into the kitchen, thumbs running along the hem of her top to say it... But when she speaks, it's not exactly what comes out.

"What am I doing here?"

The blonde doesn't jump by the voice, just reaches into the cabinet above her to grab a glass, then fill it up with water from the tap in the sink beside her. She then rustles into the grocery bag again, fishing out a packet and turns, sliding them across the kitchen island toward Santana who eyes them suspiciously before finding out it's just a packet of aspirin.

"You were passed out on your door step last night," the girl explains as Santana edges to the island, reaching out carefully to take the glass of water and two aspirin out the packet. She pops the pills in her mouth and takes a large sip from the water, swallowing them before paying attention to the blonde again.

"So why am I here?"

A fair eyebrow lifts in her direction. "You could be a bit more grateful, you know," the girl says, crossing her arms and looking entirely unimpressed by Santana's attitude. But she doesn't care. She didn't ask for help.

"I didn't ask you to pick me up or help me."

"You would've _died_if I hadn't," the blonde continues, bobbing her head in a disbelieving manner.

Santana shrugs purposely, eyes focusing on the glass of water she's spinning in her palm. "I would've been fine," she murmurs, almost to herself. But the girl hears and jerks her head forward and down, expression incredulous.

"Are you _serious?_You had a concussion, and it was like, minus five degrees out," she points out, almost like she can't quite believe Santana's saying this.

Santana can't either, really, but she's stubborn as hell and will never admit that she was actually hurt, and did actually need someone to pick her up off the floor and to care for her. She knows last night this girl did something for her that no-one else would, and honestly, it sort of scared her that she got so drunk and so hurt in one of the fights that she passed out on the stoop in minus five degree weather, which could've lead to her damn _death_.

But that'll just be another thing she'll never say out loud. Santana Lopez doesn't get scared by anything, not even a near death experience.

(Except she does.)

"I didn't have a concussion," she grumbles, and then she falls silent, the only sound being the glass she's holding scraping across the counter top as she spins it.

A hand snaps over her fingers, stilling the movement and her eyes flit up, meeting bright blue that makes the breath she's taking hitch in her throat. She just hopes to God that wasn't as noticeable as she thinks it is.

Judging by the slight smirk pulling at the other girl's soft expression though, she doesn't think it worked.

"You don't have to be so strong all the time, you know," the blonde tells her through a whisper, and Santana's so caught up in the way the fingers clasped around hers feel and how blue eyes are gazing into hers so intensely that she almost doesn't register what the girl said, but she does eventually, and it makes annoyance and anger sizzle through her veins. She yanks her hand back, curling her upper lip and lifting her chin defensively.

"You don't know me so don't pretend like you do," she spits, venom dripping from her words and arms crossing over her chest.

Something in Brittany's face changes though, and even though it's slightly sympathetic—which makes the annoyance ten fold within her—but there's something more and it makes Santana falter. The stubbornness drains and she finds herself rolling her eyes at herself as the defensive, bitchy front lowers. The least she can do is say thank you.

"Sorry," she mumbles and the girls head whips up, eyes wide with shock. "Thank you, is what I mean, I guess." Santana retains the urge to shrug. "For looking after me, thank you."

The apology must seem genuine—not like it isn't, but still—and even though she really kind of fucking hates that, she looks down and doesn't take note of the way Brittany smiles at her softly and leans back against the counter, picking up a cup of coffee that seems to have come out of nowhere and sips on it.

"No problem," the blonde whispers. "Do you want some breakfast?"

Santana's about to say no, she really is, but then her stomach growls and a wide grin spreads across the girls face as she stares at her, and well, Santana can't really tell her that she's not. So she just sucks in her lips to hide the smile threatening to push through and looks down to the counter as a mug of coffee slides over to her, the same time she slides on to one of the stools surrounding it.

"Yes, please."

She's so shocked that she actually said _please_that she has to grasp the edge of the counter to make sure she doesn't fall off, but the girl just giggles as she flicks on the stove and pauses, throwing a look over her shoulder until Santana meets it.

"Brittany, by the way," she says with a grin, and Santana fires a crooked one back, hers a little dopier and dazed, though 'cause if she's honest, Brittany grinning is kind of dazzling.

She coughs, clears her throat. "Santana," she responds, feeling blood rush to her face. "The name's Santana."

"I know, Lopez," Brittany throws in a wink. "Puck told me."

For the first time in years, the smile on Santana's face is genuine.

/

That night she goes to the bar again, but much to Puck's surprise, she's not alone. Brittany's by her side and instead of doing what she always does first and bust through the doors, scowl as she drags her legs over to the stool and slouch on to one, she waits patiently and tucks her hands into her pockets, shoulders squaring to her ears as she and Brittany both walk over to the bar.

She even goes as far to stop and pull Brittany's stool out for her before taking one for herself, sliding on to it and patiently glancing around the room instead of rapping her knuckles like she usually does on the bar top to grab Puck's attention.

Apparently he's out the back in the alley, and he slips back in, reeking of smoke and blowing the last of it from his mouth in a smooth stream before his eyes land on Santana and Brittany and he stops, eyes widening as he looks between the two. His hand slips as he closes the door, and he stumbles in, staring at Santana like she just grew another head.

Then again, she supposes that would probably be less shocking than her coming into the bar with another person.

"Lopez..." Puck drawls, stopping at the space in front of them, but behind the bar. "And Brittany... What are you..." His eyes narrow, flicking between them. "...Doing together?"

It's a good question, and honestly, Santana would like to be able to answer it but she doesn't know. All that she knows is that they spent the day together, weirdly enough it was really fucking nice, and that she's laughed and smiled more today than she has in the past seven years. That's not even an exaggeration, either.

She turns to Brittany and realizes she's being stared at like she needs to say something in the next few seconds but all she can do is shrug and plead with her new-found friend to answer it for her.

Out of Puck's view, Brittany's hand sneaks out and squeezes Santana's thigh, just above the knee, gently.

"We're just coming for a drink together."

Santana forces herself not to jerk or shudder at the other girls touch and gulps, nodding as Puck slides over a glass of scotch. "Yeah. Just a drink."

Puck pours a shot of vodka into a glass then uses the soda gun to pour in some coke. He slides it across the counter to Brittany and Santana feels a strange twinge in her stomach. Sure, he knows her order like the back of his hand but she always has scotch. As far as she knows Brittany's only been here three times and yet Puck knows hers, too.

Shit. Is something going on there?

She shifts her eyes between them, but then lets it drop to the hand still resting on her thigh and the twinge goes away.

"But Lopez..." His eyes dart back and forth again. "You _never_ go out for 'a drink' with... _anyone._"

She shrugs again, but fucks up the whole 'playing-it-cool' plan by glancing back toward her glass guiltily. Brittany just smiles next to her.

"Maybe I've started to," she grumbles, chin ducked against her chest. "I don't have to run everything I do past you."

Puck lifts his hands defensively. "Whoa, okay. Chill, man, I wasn't saying anything bad."

Brittany giggles and Santana twists to look at her, expression softening and a smile coming to her face and she knows Puck's looking but so fucking what. She's allowed to have a new friend.

Even if that friend is kind of perfect and everything Santana needs in her life.

/

It's weird having someone around her house. Someone that actually _wants_ to be there instead of someone that _has_to be there. Like a plumber, or the guy that fixed her radiator last week; but it's also kind of nice to have someone around like that.

For example, like right now, Santana's sitting on her sofa, legs stretched along the width as she flicks through the TV channels, trying to find something decent to watch whilst Brittany's doing something in the kitchen. She's not sure what, but she's heard pots and pans clanging and is kind of hoping that Brittany hasn't decided to destroy her kitchen. It wouldn't be intentional if her kitchen spontaneously combusted into flames, but that doesn't mean she wouldn't be a little bummed out about it.

Anyway, she's sitting here, and she's not allowed to get up to check if her house is in tact because half an hour ago, Brittany stood over her after pushing her back to the sofa and demanded with a stern face and a pointed finger that she should stay there, watch television and _not _come into the kitchen and disturb her. Santana grumbled beneath her breath at first, but then Brittany arched an eyebrow and tried to look serious and it was actually pretty fucking adorable, and Santana just knew the second she saw that look that it'd bring problems between them. Problems being Santana is an angry person, likes being angry, and that eyebrow thing of Brittany's is quite possibly one of the most adorable things she's ever seen and therefore it has the power to break her anger.

But that's totally not the point anyway.

Although, actually, it kind of is.

So she's sitting here, and thirty-one minutes after Brittany told her to sit down with a (not so stern) stern expression, Santana hears it. It's a little shriek, and she's up from the sofa and sprinting into the kitchen faster than you can say that damn sentence, finding a rather pissed off Brittany. She's standing there, stomping her foot like a little kid as she stares at a plate full of burnt brownies sitting atop of the stove, the oven door still open beneath it. Her face is a little red, her eyebrows scrunched together and fists curled against her cotton shorts, and Santana just stands at the door, unable to do anything but burst into a fit of laughter at the sight.

Because fuck, Brittany is most definitely the cutest thing alive. Way cuter than freaking puppies and kittens, and like, unicorns or some mythical shit.

"It's not funny!"

Santana manages to open her eyes as she clutches at her stomach. It feels like she hasn't laughed in years. Actually, she might not have laughed in years. Certainly not like this anyway. "You—" she chokes on her words, bursting out in laughter again. "You burnt the br—brownies!"

The laughter keeps going but Brittany's less than amused, throwing down the dish cloth on to the counter and crossing her arms over her chest, letting out a heavy huff. "I forgot to time it," she mumbles beneath her breath and Santana only laughs more, earning another foot stomp from the blonde. "Santana! It's not funny."

Unable to stop herself, Santana walks toward her, dipping her head slightly and biting back the desperate urge to laugh. Her fingertips hover over Brittany's forearms, the nerves inside her body not allowing her to do what she really wants and reach out to touch her and she pouts a little, not yet realizing how strangely she's acting.

"I'm sorry," she says and can't think of the last time she ever said that and genuinely meant it. This might actually be the first time.

Brittany's face is still a little scrunched, twisted away and eyes flicking between Santana and to a random spot in the kitchen like she's debating whether to give in and Santana keeps her gaze steady, the pout stilling on her lips as she silently begs with the girl for forgiveness. It doesn't quite strike her that her behavior is incredibly odd; especially considering the way she usually interacts with people is with scotch, cursing, fists or grumbling, or even a mix of a few of them but it seems that Brittany does notice because quickly sparks up, grinning widely and before Santana can even take the look of her face, arms are winding around her neck, a body pressing flush against hers and her head's filling with the smell of Brittany and damn... That shit is _good._

"You're so cute when you pout," is whispered into her ear and the head on her shoulder pulls back until her face is lingering barely an inch away from Brittany's. "And you should laugh more," she continues, stroking back a piece of Santana's hair. "Your laugh is..." Her eyes trace over the movement of her fingers as she pauses, breath steadying and blanketing over the other girls face. Her eyes dart back, meeting dark ones as she says, "It's kind of beautiful."

The hands now resting on Brittany's hips twitch visibly as the words flow through Santana's body, and she feels her entire body buzz and fill with warmth as Brittany just gazes into her eyes. And really, she can't deny that she's really starting to like this girl, only as friends though, because she can't seem to break it off either; and actually, it only does break because warm lips dust over the skin of her cheek, skimming down, almost to her jaw and she blinks out of it, fighting the urge to blush as she realizes that Brittany just kissed her.

(On the cheek, yeah, but Brittany doing pretty much anything gets her all hot under the collar nowadays.)

"Wha—What was that for?" She stutters, her mouth dropping a little as Brittany flashes a soft smile and twirls away, grabbing the now cool tray and spinning back.

"For being you," the blonde replies, her eyes sparkling at her words before they dart down to the almost black brownies in her hands. "Now we're going to eat these and pretend they're good whilst we watch Sweet Valley High because it'll make me happy," she adds. "Okay?"

Santana can't really do anything but nod because really, that's pretty much the best suggestion she's ever heard.

So after Brittany disappears with a "come in when you're ready" and a wink, Santana forces nonchalance into her veins and stumbles over her own feet as she follows the other girl.

/

Brittany has to go to her grandad's house and sort out some things today, which means Santana's on her own.

It shouldn't bother her that much because she's been on her own for seven years, and two entire days and nights spent with Brittany shouldn't change a thing. They've barely slept, only because they've been sat in Brittany's kitchen drinking coffee after coffee and just talking throughout the entire night about their lives and sure, it's been a weird kind of nice, but it shouldn't make Santana feel too light. Like she's missing something that should be there now that Brittany's not beside her.

It's ridiculous. No-one can like someone that much in two days. Especially not Santana Lopez, and so she's not going to dwell on the feeling and instead go to the bar. Big surprise there.

Puck's just opening up as she walks in, and it's not shocking considering it's one in the afternoon but he still manages to jerk his head back at her arrival. "What you doing here so early, Lopez?"

She scowls and rounds the bar, picking up a spare cloth and helping him dust down the bottles. So what? She's feeling helpful today. "Britt's at her grandad's today so thought I could come hang with you."

Puck stills, cloth wrapped around the neck of the bottle he's grasping. "You never _hang_with anyone," he draws out, staring at her through narrowed eyes. "Seriously... Why you being so nice?"

"I'm not," she shrugs but second guesses herself considering she's _voluntarily_ helping Puck open up the bar and freaking _clean_. "Shut up," she shakes her head quickly. "I'm just bored and Shelby's visiting relatives in Ohio for a week so I haven't got anything to do."

"Shelby?" Puck's voice peaks at the sound of her name. "As in your hot auntie?"

Santana's eyes flash to him in a glare. "Back off, Puckerman. She ain't fodder for your spank bank."

His eyebrows waggle lecherously as he switches to the bar top and begins rubbing the cloth over it in circular motions. "Babe, you can't tell me what goes in there."

"No, but I can kick the shit out of you until you're forced not to think about it."

"True," he replies, jabbing her lightly in the shoulder. "So what's going on with you and Legs, anyway?"

Hearing Puck call Brittany 'Legs' makes her spin around and step toward him abruptly, glaring up at him with flared nostrils, a clenched jaw and a fiery anger burning within in her veins. His eyes widen and the cloth he's grasping drops as he backs up against the bar top, chuckling nervously at her expression.

"If you even _think_ about checking her out again, I will _personally_make sure that you'll never be able to get an erection again. Got it, Puckerman?"

It must be terrifying enough because Puck just offers and short, curt nod and begins cleaning again. Santana smiles, a sweet thread of satisfaction buzzing through her as she settles down back to her feet, letting her face relax again.

"So anyway, what is going on with you and Britt?"

"Chuck me a cloth," she says and he blinks at her, shocked for three seconds before reaching beneath the bar and coming up with a rag. She catches it, nodding at him and begins cleaning over the bar with me. "And I don't know. We're just... We're just chilling I guess."

Puck eyes her from the other side of the bar. "You guys fucked yet?"

"Pig," she spits, whipping the rag at him. "But no."

"Kissed?"

"No."

He gapes at her. "Have you even seen her naked?"

Blood rushes to her cheeks as she pointedly looks away from him. "No," she grunts. "It's not like that."

"It's _always_like that with you," he fires back and cocks a brow. "Seriously, what's going on between you two?"

"Like I said, we're just chilling," she shrugs like it's not a big deal, even though now she's having this conversation she has this burning urge to know what they are. Maybe if she called Brittany and asked her, she'd say.

Wait... She can't do that. They're just chilling. They're just being friends, with like, spontaneous kisses on the cheek, lingering hugs, holding hands with threaded fingers and weird ass butterflies form in her stomach whenever Brittany's around.

See? They're just friends. Just chilling.

"Bullshit," Puck chimes in. "You told her you like her, yet?"

Santana can only laugh at the soft expression on his face as she wipes over the bar top again. "We're not in fucking school, Puckerman. I don't need to tell the girl I like her."

"So you _do_like her," he retorts and shit, she didn't mean to reveal that.

"Fuck off. I like her as a friend."

"A friend you'd like to fuck."

Her hand stills, cloth beneath it and she slowly tips her head up, narrowing her eyes into a glare at him. "I said it wasn't like that," she growls at him and he raises his eyebrows, amused.

"So you don't wanna fuck her and you don't like her?"

"I never said—" she stops short, looking up at him and pressing her tongue against her teeth. He's smirking at her with that knowing expression. In classic Santana fashion, she rolls her eyes and throws the cloth at him. "Do your own fucking work and stop sticking your Jewish nose into my business."

He laughs at her but continues cleaning. "You wanna drink?"

She slides on to a stool, arms crossing and resting on the now clean bar top. Good thing she cleaned it actually, usually it's sticky as fuck and now she can actually move her elbow without having her skin stick to the damn bar. "Why, you paying?"

"It's my bar, I don't have to pay," he shoots back, throwing the cloth over his shoulder and pressing both palms down. "What you want?"

"Orange juice."

His eyes widen comically. "The fuck?" He almost yelps. "_Orange juice?_"

"It's not even noon, yet," she answers, leaving out the part where Brittany decided to ban her from drinking alcohol before the evening.

He lifts his palms by his ears, surrendering to her. She smirks as he reaches down to the fridge, grabbing a carton of orange juice. "Sure it's nothing to do with something blonde and gorgeous?"

"It's not," she spits back but something in her expression must give it away because Puck stares at her for a little while.

"Holy shit!" He says, taken aback with wide eyes. "She's got you good!" He manages to get out, throwing his head back as he bursts out in laughter. He curls against the counter, hand slamming down on the bar top to accompany the barks of laughter. "You're fucking whipped!"

She bites back the urge to lean over the bar and crack him one in the jaw, instead settling down, crossing her arms and looking away, thoroughly pissed off. "Shut up," she grumbles, getting annoyed.

"Shit," he breathes out, calming himself down and straightening up. "You really like her?"

It's more of a statement than a question, but she just rolls her eyes again and gets up off the stool. There's a store a street or two away and even though it's not free, it's worth spending two dollars on it because then she won't get this crap from Puckerman.

"Fuck this, I'm gonna go to the store and get some orange juice." She manages to get to the door before she hears her name being called and turns around, already scowling at Puck even though he's staring back at her, softly. "What?" She growls.

Puck stays silent as he rounds the bar and walks toward her, rubbing his palms down the front of his scruffy jeans. When they're in front of each other, he lifts a hand and settles it on her shoulder, avoiding the glare she gives him as her eyes dart down to the limb she does _not_ want on her. He takes in a deep breath and she resists the urge to roll her eyes again, giving him her best _hurry the fuck up_look. He smiles at her but there's something deeper there and she can see the way he's looking over her like he's feeling sympathetic. Puck's never been described as sensitive, in fact, that'd probably be the last thing he'd ever be described as, and it makes her fists curl against her jeans. She hates sympathy.

"Are you gonna spit it out or just stand there like a spare douche at a wedding?" She hisses when he doesn't say anything.

This time he rolls his eyes and drops his hand. "Look, I'm not gonna give you an emotional speech or whatever," he tells her and she runs her tongue along her teeth. "But if that girl's willing to put up with your shit, with your mood swings and with whatever the fucks going on in there," he points to her head. "Then don't be a dick and pretend like you don't like her. Fucking tell her because shit like that doesn't happen to people like us, often." She looks at him. "And you'd be a fucking fool if you let this opportunity go."

He gives her a smile and she just rolls her eyes as she walks out the bar without another word.

Although, he may have a point.

/

She wandered around town for a bit, just kicking at random lumps of snow and scaring off little children with her scowl and the bruises on her face whilst she processed her thoughts, but all she could come up with is that she feels _something_for Brittany, but she doesn't know what it is. Hell, she doesn't even know if Brittany's into girls like that, and to admit something to someone without knowing their response is just a risk Santana's not willing to take.

(Even if the entire time she was thinking about it, it felt like her heart was flying.)

Anyway, she gets back to the house and sees the kitchen light on, a smile crossing her face the moment she notices it. It may have only been two days, but she's enjoying being around Brittany as much as she can. Shit. She's getting in way too deep.

"Britt?" She calls out, throwing her keys on to the side table Brittany bought over. Apparently it's a necessity for a home and as much as she doesn't want to admit, Santana thinks it's kind of handy. The rest of the house is dark, the living room and hallway both with the lights off and she frowns, eyes shifting around. "Britt, you there?"

She's ready to move to the kitchen when two arms wind around her waist, and she damn near jumps out her skin. She spins around, ready to kick some ass if she needs to but sees Brittany grinning at her with a dust of flour on her nose. All the fear inside of her seeps out and she begins smiling, shaking her head at the girl because damn, could Brittany be any cuter?

"What the hell you doing, Britt?" She asks, stepping forward again and trying not to melt when hands settle on her waist again.

Brittany scrunches up her nose. "Hello to you, too, and I got hungry."

"So you're making a cake?"

Blue eyes cross as Brittany tries to look at her nose as Santana points to it. She just ends up having to shake her head out of it. "That hurt," she pouts and shrugs. "But yeah, I like cake."

Santana raises a brow because she's not buying that. "You had a craving for cake so you made some?"

Brittany nods rapidly, a grin stretching across her face. "Yep," she replies, grabbing at Santana's hands and pulling her backward to the kitchen. "And..."

The second they reach the kitchen, Santana freezes. The kitchen's decorated head to foot in party favors, some silly string here and there, banners with 'HAPPY BIRTHDAY' stretched from cupboard to cupboard and party poppers lined out around everywhere. In the corner, Puck's standing there with a beer and a paper party hat tipped off his side and Brittany skips into the room, leaving Santana in the doorway staring, the confusion growing as she looks around.

"What the—"

"It's your birthday!" Brittany sings, picking up the cake from the kitchen table and heading back toward Santana. "So happy birthday!"

Santana's eyes shift to Puck. "You in on this?"

He smirks, raises his beer bottles and tips it toward her. "Sure am, Lopez," he chimes, winking. "But your girl here only wanted to invite me, hence the lack of people," he gestures around the room.

"Why's that?"

"Because she said you don't like anyone but us even though you pretend not to like me most of the time," he grins back and she rolls her eyes.

Brittany stops in front of her, grinning like a little kid as she holds up the cake to Santana. There are a few candles stuck in it, all lit and she looks up to excited blue eyes and realizes this is the part where she needs to blow the candles out, and even though with anyone else, she'd be saying how lame this is, she can't help but soften at the expression on Brittany's face. She just looks so excited and honestly, Santana's a little touched that someone actually wanted to celebrate her birthday with her.

So she rolls her eyes in the only way she knows how, breathes in deeply and blows out the candles, grinning when Brittany bounces in spot.

"Yay!" The blonde half-shouts and Santana shakes her head, laughing. This girl really is something else. Brittany puts the cake on the counter and turns back to Santana at the same time Puck's phone rings.

"Mind if I pick this up?" He asks Brittany, and Santana's shocked that he asked. He's never been polite and shit, what the hell is Brittany doing to them?

"No, go ahead," Brittany chirps and he slides out the back door, leaving his beer bottle on the counter.

It leaves Santana and Brittany alone and Santana eyes the girl, raising a brow. "So what's this about?"

"It's your birthday."

"Yeah," she says, dipping her tone. "But how did you know and why did you wanna do it?"

Brittany shifts closer, hands toying with the hem of Santana's shirt. "Puck told me and you were born today twenty-five years ago," she shrugs, eyes flicking up from her hands to Santana's face. "That's definitely something to celebrate."

The underlying meaning doesn't go a miss and Santana just coughs as blood rushes to her face. Shit. She can't blush. She's Santana fucking Lopez and she does _not_blush for anyone or anything.

"Thanks, Britt," she whispers. "It's... It's nice."

Brittany grins. "Really?"

"Yeah," Santana nods, smiling softly. "I like it." Her eyes flick around. "I really like it."

Brittany's grin somehow gets wider and Santana just stares at her as she stares back. She's about to say something, a joke about why Brittany's staring at her when Brittany shifts impossibly close, keeping the eye contact but breathing harder and heavier now. It rips the words straight from her mouth and she just stares, her right eyebrow slowly arching as blue eyes roam over her face, down to her lips and then back to her eyes like she's asking for something, and all Santana can do is watch because she has no idea _what_Brittany's asking.

But then there's a flutter of movement, and hands are cupping her cheeks and pulling her forward until warm lips cover her own. She jumps a little, shocked, but her body catches up way before her mind does and her hands are already on Brittany's hips, sliding around to her lower back and pressing until their bodies are flush against each other. Their lips move together perfectly, just brushing simply, and Santana can feel Brittany grin against her mouth when Brittany kisses her harder, arms winding around her neck and pulling them even closer.

The kiss is soft and long, and it's everything she never knew she loved about kissing. It feels like they're kissing because they can, and not because it's leading anywhere and she didn't realize up until now, up until Brittany, that actually, this is her favorite. Brittany is her favorite and fuck, Puck was right; she's kind of crazy about this girl.

It may be their first kiss, but it sure as hell doesn't feel like it and Brittany doesn't seem to treat it like it either because as it slows, she begins pecking Santana's lips several times until they break away properly and Brittany's gazes with bright, impossibly blue eyes.

"Happy birthday," she whispers, warm breath hitting moist lips.

"Thanks," Santana croaks out and Brittany kisses her one last time softly before moving away to the kitchen to cut up the cake.

Puck slides in a moment later and eyes them suspiciously, but says nothing as they go back to the celebrating.

/

**This is only a short fic, or a four shot or whatever you want to call it, but I hope you've enjoyed and please leave a comment if you can :)**


	2. Chapter 2

**Title:** If I Just Saved You (You Could Save Me Too) [Part Two]  
**Rating:** Hard R  
**Word Count: **8.6k

/

Kissing becomes a frequent thing between them after that night.

It never goes any further, but Santana finds herself not caring.

Fighting becomes less frequent, as it seems, drinking too, actually, and Santana also finds herself preferring to stay in with Brittany at one of their houses instead of going down to the bar to get trashed.

Really, it's kind of fucked up, and if she thinks about or thinks about talking to Brittany about them, it only leads to more questions than it answers and so she just doesn't.

A month goes by in the blink of an eye, and it's sort of become an unspoken agreement that every Friday night, they'll go to Santana's house, order in a shitty Chinese from the only one in town and watch some bullshit film that Santana never watches, instead choosing to stare at Brittany out the corner of her eye. She thinks Brittany knows, but she doesn't really care, especially when Brittany shifts against the couch and leans her head in Santana's lap, tugging at one hand so she can hold it in front of her, whilst the other automatically goes to stroke through blonde hair.

But then one night they're at the bar, deciding to go for a drink and to see Puck since there's a new part-time bartender and he's got the night off, when shit goes down.

Santana's up at the bar, grabbing a round of drinks for her, Brittany and Puck, and Puck's at the slot machine in the corner, wasting all his money. She's telling the young blonde guy the order when he hears Brittany's voice back at the booth. She can't make out what it is, assuming it's just Puck coming back to the table and grumbling about losing his wages even though it's not that fucking surprising, but when she spares a quick glance over her shoulder, she finds some random guy standing at the table next to Brittany, one hand braced against the back of her chair as he leans over her, talking.

Now Santana, believe it or not, has _some_ restraint. She knows from her previous relationships, as little as that number may be, that jealousy, being clingy and being overprotective is definitely _not _sexy, and so she just assumes that this guy is Brittany's friend or something and goes back to the drinks. Plus Brittany sort of frowns upon Santana beating the crap out of people now, and the girl's so damn friendly that this guy could be her friend, and if Santana kicked the shit out of him then Brittany would not be pleased.

The blonde bartender smiles at her and nods at him to put it on Puck's tab and he grins back, full well knowing that Puck's going to be pissed. Santana kind of likes this new guy though, he may be a little weird but he's funny and doesn't ask questions when she puts drinks on a tab that quite clearly isn't her own.

Anyway, she grabs the drinks, balancing them carefully and makes her way back over to the table, sliding into her chair and scooting it closer to Brittany, one hand pushing the drinks to their places and the other going to the small of Brittany's back to let her know she's there without being rude and interrupting their conversation.

But Brittany has other ideas, and turns to her with a lopsided smile that doesn't quite reach her eyes. "Hey," she whispers and Santana looks at her, seeing how something is just _off_about the way Brittany's staring at her.

"Hey... Everything alright?" She asks, finally taking a look up at the guy and shit, this is the guy she kicked the crap out of the other week. Jesse something.

"It's_ you_," Jesse spits and Santana arches a brow up at him. _Oh_, that explains Brittany's weirdness.

"I'm not looking to fight tonight," she says, cutting to the point. "I don't fight anymore."

Brittany looks at her with confusion, but she just smiles back, saying _I'm doing it for you _and Brittany's face breaks into a smile. She shifts a little closer, pressing into Santana's side and Santana lets out a sigh as she looks up, seeing narrowed eyes glaring down at her.

"Can I help you?"

"You owe me a grand," he grunts.

Santana bites back a laugh. "I won that fight fair and square," she shrugs, picking up her beer and taking a swig. "And I'm not looking for a re-match."

"I'm not asking for a re-match," Jesse leans down, across the table. "I'm _telling _you we're going to have a re-match."

That sort of tone never goes well with Santana, and she wets her lips and clenches her jaw as her fist curls against the small of Brittany's back. Blue eyes flash to her, questioning what she's doing and she can already feel the anger curdling within her. She's known for having a short fuse, and Brittany knows that, which is why she's staring at Santana with such worry. And it really doesn't help that it's been weeks since she's punched someone, well over a month actually, and even though she has no plans to do it again, this guy is really testing her patience.

Sure, her face has cleared up now and she's planning on keeping it that way, sure she has enough money to last her for the rest of her life anyway with the wagers she didn't spend and the amount her parents left after their death, and sure, it makes Brittany happy that she's not fighting and drinking away her life anymore, but this guy... This guy is being a real dick right now. He's winding her up and even though Brittany can usually calm her down—in the past month, Brittany's stopped Santana from kicking the crap out of at least four people—it doesn't seem to be working right now.

"I'm not fighting you," she manages to get out through clenched teeth. "So you might as well leave now."

"I didn't come here to fight you anyway," he settles and Santana's instantly suspicious about him giving up so easily. "But if you're going to refuse then I might as well keep on talking to your girl here," he smirks down at her, eyes flitting to Brittany and Santana tenses. He really is trying her patience.

(Plus he just said _your girl _and Santana isn't sure Brittany is.)

"She doesn't want to talk to you," she spits back, clamping down her jaw. "So. Back. Off." She punctuates each word with a slight pause.

"It's a free country," Jesse shrugs. "And if you're not going to fight me then I guess I'm just going to have to talk to your friend here."

Santana looks to Brittany who's leaning away from Jesse, and Santana sort of loves and hates that she's the only one that can see the disgust in blue eyes.

"Is that how you want it?" He continues and Santana's back goes rigid. "I mean, I don't mind. Girl's got a pretty face," he says, taking the hand off the back of Brittany's chair to stroke at her chin. Brittany jerks back, shaking her head up at him but stays quiet. She's no good with confrontation. "And I bet she's got a really fine body beneath those clothes," he eyes Brittany's body lecherously and well, that's the last straw for Santana.

"Santana!" Brittany yells, but Santana's already jolting up, chair tipping back and crashing onto the floor as she rounds Brittany's chair and pushes Jesse back with her hands against his chest.

He smirks at her like he was expecting it and even though she really doesn't want to stoop to his level, even though Brittany's calling her name, she's so angry that everything's sort of blurry apart from her target, everything's sort of muffled from the low buzzing in her ears except the sound of Jesse laughing dryly at her and she can't really do anything about it. She's already cracking her knuckles, clenching them into tight fists and thinking about how many punches she can knock him out in when a body slides between his and hers.

Her eyes snap to the offending person, but then she sees Puck glaring down at Jesse in front of her, and then there's arms wrapping around her arms after they're pinned to her waist, hot breath against her ear.

"Just calm down," Brittany breathes gently, but Santana's still seething at Jesse who's smirking at her over Puck's shoulder. "He's not worth it."

Puck must notice because he grabs Jesse by the collar and hauls him out the bar, throwing him through the front door where he lands in the snow just outside of it. It should give Santana some satisfaction, but she doesn't notice anything apart from the smirk on his face and it succeeds in pissing her off more. She steps forward, trying to break from the embrace with a strong wiggle but Brittany's stronger than she looks and ends up holding her back.

"Don't," Brittany whispers against her ear, lips brushing the shell. "Please, don't."

It breaks something in Santana, the begging, the tone of Brittany's voice, and her entire body relaxes as Puck kicks the door shut and storms back over to them.

"You okay, Lopez?" He asks, his tone low and pissed off.

She nods sharply and Brittany's arms loosen from around her. "I'm fine," she grunts and shakes her arms out, some of the fury going with it. "I'm fucking fine."

She slumps back down on the chair again heavily, grabbing her beer and downing it in one straight gulp as Brittany sits beside her. Anger is still pulsing through her veins, and she's in one of those moods now where the tiniest thing's going to set her off. But that rapidly disappears when Brittany looks at her out the corner of her eye and then shifts her chair a little further away, almost like she's scared of Santana.

And well, that just sort of kills Santana.

Still, she just stands and heads to the bar, ordering a glass of scotch instead of a beer, and ignores the sound of Puck telling Brittany to leave her alone for a while.

/

She's a little drunk later on, things are a little blurry and there's that weird buzzing in her mind, but she's cool. She's not pissed out her brain and falling over and crap, so she's good.

Except from the fact that Brittany hasn't spoken her to her since the whole Jesse thing and now Puck's driving them back to Santana's house and all Santana wants to do is reach across the back seat, grab Brittany's hand and apologize. Not that she knows what she's apologizing for but it's been four hours since she's touched Brittany and shit, she's kind of dying over here. She's just that pathetic now.

Puck pulls up carefully, the snow traction strips allowing him to do it without swerving and Brittany quickly leans in to kiss Puck on the cheek and thank him before she slides out. Santana stays put, watching as Brittany walks through the snow, clutching her jacket close to her body as she steps up to the stoop and enters the house with the spare key Santana gave her a few weeks back, and she kind of fucking hates that she feels guilty right now. She hates that she scared Brittany most of all, but she knows she's gotta face this.

Twisting in his seat, Puck throws an arm over the back of the passenger seat and cocks a brow at her. "Remember what I said," he says. "Don't be a dick."

He doesn't know about them kissing, or the intense make out sessions that may have happened over the past few weeks, and so she nods but doesn't say anything else as she climbs out the car, barely looking back at Puck inside the car to say thank you as she shuts the door. It's not like she doesn't want to tell Puck, it's just that she doesn't know what the kissing means so she doesn't want to say something wrong, and he's not stupid, he's noticed something _more _between them—they are pretty touchy after all—but he hasn't pried further and Santana has to admit, that's one of the reasons she likes the guy.

The wind is cold and bitter against her cheeks, but she ignore sit as she trudges into her house, shivering and shaking off the flecks of white covering her hair and coat as she looks around. Brittany's not downstairs by the looks of it, and Santana presses her tongue to her teeth as she climbs the stairs and walks slowly to her bedroom door, pushing it open to find Brittany with her back to her, stripping the shirt from her torso and rummaging through the dresser to borrow something of Santana's.

(It's hard not to feel those butterflies in her stomach when Brittany just looks like she _belongs _here, doing all that domestic crap.)

"Britt," she calls out, quietly, playing with her hands in front of her stomach. "Britt, I'm sorry."

Brittany pauses, hands buried in the clothes in the top drawer. "You don't have anything to be sorry about," she sighs.

Santana takes a step forward, the door closing behind her. "I do," she whispers. "I... I scared you."

Brittany's head drops and she turns around, crossing her arms over her chest. That only emphasizes her abs though and shit, Santana's seen this girl topless hundreds of times now but a girl can only take so much sexual frustration before she implodes.

"You did," she admits, lowly.

Santana swallows, guilt rushing through her. "I know," she squints slightly, walking forward until she's in front of the blonde. "I'm sorry, but that guy..." Her jaw clenches at the memory. "He was a douche."

"He was, but Santana, you don't have to come to my rescue. I could've handled him without you losing it."

"He wasn't just going for you, though," she replies, holding the eye contact. "He was trying to get me to fight him over protecting you and I wasn't going to do that."

Brittany's arms drops and she closes the gap between their bodies, her arms coming between them, one resting over Santana's heart whilst the other cups her cheek. Santana hand shoot out to hips, but she tenses when her palms graze over soft skin. Shit. She forgot about the topless thing.

"Yes, but you shouldn't have taken the bait," Brittany murmurs, eyes roaming over her face. "All he was going to do was flirt with me in front of you and I would've told him to back off."

Santana narrows her eyes. "I wasn't okay with him flirting with you. I wasn't going to fight him for you and I didn't want him flirting with you, so whatever I did, you would've been pissed one way or another," she explains, taking a step back and turning around, one hand resting on her hip and the other rubbing at her forehead. "If I hadn't stood up to him, you would've thought I was a shitty girlfriend, but if I had, like I did, you're pissed that I took the bait." She spins back around again. "I just can't wi—What?" She cuts off, noticing the look on Brittany's face.

Brittany's staring at her with unbridled adoration, her blue eyes soft and head tilted, lips curved up at the side. It's not really a smile, but it's like Santana's the most amazing person in the world and as she tracks back, going over her words, she realized what she said and instantly chokes up. It's probably comical the way her eyes widen because she just called Brittany her girlfriend. Fuck. After weeks of soft touches, lazy kisses and sleeping together in a way Santana wasn't privy too before, she's just put a fucking label on them and crap, she's just run the risk of fucking, whatever the hell is going on between them, up.

"Shit," she stutters, shaking her head. "I didn't mean to—"

Brittany takes a long stride forward, grabbing a fistful of Santana's shirt and tugging until they're kissing, hot and opened mouthed. Brittany's tongue pushes into her mouth, stroking over her own hotly and she whimpers at how deep and needy the kiss is, her fingernails biting into the skin of Brittany's waist as she tries to get a hold of herself. It goes on for a long moment, and she fights back, pushing back and sliding her tongue into Brittany's mouth, her tongue flicking against the roof of it until Brittany bites back, teeth nipping at Santana's bottom lip and tugging it back.

Now, like she's said, they've kissed. They've had some pretty heavy make out sessions with Santana pressed between Brittany's thighs, her hand sliding beneath Brittany's top and cupping her over her bra. But this kiss feels like there's something more, and for the first time since she lost her virginity at aged fifteen, she panics. She pulls back, breaks the kiss and stares, open mouthed at Brittany, breathing hard and heavy as she gazes into deep, blue eyes.

"Don't take that back," Brittany whispers, voice hoarse as their foreheads tip together. "Please, don't take that back."

Santana just blinks, taking in the happiness in Brittany's eyes and ends up nodding. "You're my girlfriend," she says instead and Brittany presses their lips back together with a smile.

So she says it again, and again, until everything sort of fumbles into hungry kisses and desperate touches, and the next thing she knows is they're naked, panting against each other as Santana works her fingers between Brittany's thighs. Blonde hair litters the pillow, and she presses hot open mouthed kissed down the long expanse of Brittany's neck as her thigh shifts between Brittany's leg, adding to hot, sensitive flesh until Brittany's gasping in her ear, back arching off the comforter and fingers clenching almost painfully tight in Santana's hair.

She doesn't really know how they went from talking to this, but she's definitely not disagreeing. Especially when Brittany's chuckling in her ear, then using strength Santana didn't know of prior to this evening to flip them over as she kisses her way down Santana's body, paying attention to each hardened nipple before trailing her tongue down tight abs and then to where Santana needs it most. And it's almost embarrassing how fast she can feel her orgasm approaching when Brittany's tongue flicks out against her, stroking through slick heat and then dipping down.

Heat blooms across her entire body, pressure building fast in the base of her spine and when two long fingers slide deep within her, she can't hold back the several muffled curses that spill from her lips, nor can she help the way her hips begin jerking violently until a strong hand presses against her hip to keep her steady. But then a tongue flicks out against her clit and it's only a few more flicks until she's peaking, her thighs locking around Brittany's head as the syllables of Brittany's name pours from her lips through stuttered breaths, her body quaking as the waves of her orgasm crash over her.

With one final kiss to hot flesh, Brittany pulls her fingers out and moves back up the bed until she can kiss Santana, dip her tongue into her mouth and let Santana groan at the taste of herself.

There's a light layer of sweat covering both their bodies, and Santana hums into the kiss until Brittany pulls away, flipping onto the space in the bed beside and pressing her hand to her forehead as they both catch their breath. They lay in silence for a long moment, but then Santana begins smiling, and the smiling turns into laughing and when Brittany side eyes her, she rolls on top of her _girlfriend _and brings their mouths back together, feeling Brittany's grin stretch lazily beneath her lips.

They pull back when the need for air gets too much, but even then they stay close, Santana propping herself up on her elbows as her hips fit between Brittany's thighs, the back of her fingers brushing over Brittany's cheeks as Brittany stares up with her with bright, blue eyes that she can't seem to tear herself away from.

"So..." the blonde starts and the sound of her voice makes Santana smile instantly. "That was nice."

"_Nice?_" Santana repeats, arching a brow, but she's just screwing around. "Just _nice?_"

Brittany giggles. "I meant it was a nice surprise," she reiterates. "I was wondering when that would happen though."

Fingers wind through her hair, tugging gently and Santana hums, leaning into the touch. "Why's that?"

"You just seem a bit... Guarded," Brittany murmurs, staring her straight in the eye. "Like you don't let people in."

Santana stills, blinks down at her. She wants to tell Brittany that she's let her in, that she's finally broken down those walls but that would be a lie. Brittany doesn't know a lot. She may know a few things, but none of them are really important. Brittany doesn't know about the dark things, the deepest secrets like how she found her brother passed out on his bedroom floor from an overdose when she was nine. How she used to listen to her parents night after night, yelling and screaming at each other until there was a thud and a yelp, and then the next morning, her mom would be sporting one hell of a shiner. How she'd go out with her brother when she barely a teenager, selling baggies of various drugs to random strangers down dark alleys, and how on many occasions, the deals didn't go to well and she'd end up having to watch her brother use the crowbar he'd always carry in his long coat, or even in a few cases, use it herself.

Brittany doesn't know anything, but she just seems so pure and innocent, so _good_, that Santana doesn't want to unleash her past on her. She doesn't want to damage someone so bright, so fucking wonderful, but she can't tell Brittany that. She wants to open up, but it's just the same as before; before when she didn't even know Brittany's name, before she'd even shown Brittany that she wasn't all doom and gloom, but she just _can't._

She can't unload onto someone like that. She can't reveal her fears, trust Brittany with all her secrets, and show her why she's like this. Why she spent night after night drinking herself away, and fighting with the hope that someone would come along and do more damage than intended. She just can't, no matter how much she wants to.

So, instead of replying, she just leans back down and presses their lips back together, slowly slinking down her girlfriend's body moments later before settling between her legs.

They don't talk for the rest of the night.

/

The next day she walks to the bar with the biggest smile on her face.

The front door's locked so she wanders around to the back, pushing aside a few empty barrel as they block her way to the door. Shit, Puck really needs to employ someone else here full-time. The blonde guy was nice but this place is a mess with just Puck running it and the only reason it's been relatively clean recently is because she cleaned the damn bar top. Otherwise that thing is sticky as shit. It's a wonder how he even has fucking customers in a dump like this.

That's when she gets and idea and she stumbles in, catching her foot on the step she always forgets is there and curses beneath her breath, "Shit."

Puck wanders by in front of her, carrying three crates of baby mixers in hand. "If you break anything, you can't sue this place. You're the one breaking and entering."

"It's not breaking and entering when the door's open," she points out, rubbing the back of her neck as she walks through the storage room to the bar.

Puck dumps the crates on the bar top, passes one over to her to start unloading. "So what brings you here so early?" He asks, and she looks down at the bottles, smiling to herself when a sudden memory of last night flashes back to her. "And why the hell are you smiling?"

She shakes herself out of it, quickly correcting her expression with a blank one. Her hands begin tearing open the plastic wrapping of the bottles. "No reason. Look, I was wondering..." she starts, pausing as she clutches several bottles to her chest. "This place is a shit hole, right?"

Puck scoffs at her, stocking the fridge with the bottles in hand. "If you're gonna ask for a favor you're not exactly going the right way about it."

"Whatever. Look, it must be pretty difficult to run this place on your own right?"

"Yeah."

"Right, well, I was just thinking—Like, maybe I could be here sometimes..." she suggests, slowly. "For a bit, you know? Help out and shit."

Puck stills, eyes shifting to her. "You wanna job?"

She rolls her eyes at his tone. It's half-surprised and half, well, touched. "Shut up."

"You're not gonna fight anymore?" He asks, his voice going a little high. She shakes her head. "Like, for real?"

She lifts a shoulder. "No. My eyes have been opened and now I've got more important things."

Staring at her for a long while, Puck eyes her over like she's trying to figure out what the strings are; but then he realizes there aren't any and begins bobbing his head, a grin stretching across his face. "It's Britt, right?"

In the only way she knows how, Santana rolls her eyes but doesn't answer, instead choosing to get on with her first job as a bar maid at Puck's bar: stocking the shelves.

It's safer than fighting, she guesses.

/

An hour or two later, Brittany comes breezing in the door and Santana whips her head around from where she's standing behind the bar. Puck shoots her a smirk from the other end where he's serving someone, and she just throws him the 'taking a break for five' look that he nods in response to.

Brittany grins at her as she slides into a stool, and Santana throws her rag to the bar behind as she rounds it, parting Brittany's legs and sliding between them when she gets to her girlfriend.

"Hey," the blonde draws out, her blue eyes locking onto dark ones.

Santana's heart flutters as she tucks a piece of hair behind Brittany's ear. "Hello," she whispers and can't even help herself as she leans down, brushing their lips together, almost not kissing Brittany at all.

When she pulls back, Brittany's staring at her with bright, shocked blue eyes and Santana barely gets a grin in before Brittany follows her again, bringing their mouths back together as her hand slides around a tanned neck, locking her in place. The smile quickly fades from her face and Brittany sucks in her bottom lip, nose nudging against Santana's cheek as the kiss deepens.

But then one of them whimpers—Santana doesn't even know who—and she remembers where she is and how much this is probably turning Puck on, so she pulls away with an apologetic smile.

"Sorry," she whispers, against Brittany's lips. "But Puck's probably perving on us."

Brittany giggles and leans up, kissing her once again before fully backing away and sliding her palms up Santana's arms. "It's fine," she replies, biting on her bottom lip. "And not that I'm complaining, but what was that for?"

"Just saying hello to my girlfriend," Santana winks and lets her hands fall to Brittany's thigh, squeezing whilst long arms wrap around her neck loosely.

"Oh, so now I'm your girlfriend?"

She grins and laughs through her nose, nodding. "Well I never took it back last night, and I'm pretty sure what happened after was a good example of why we should totally be together."

A fair eyebrow lifts. "Because we have awesome sex?"

"Well, yeah," she chuckles. "But I mean there's loads of other reasons, too."

Interest peaked, Brittany inquires, "Oh, yeah?"

"Yep. I mean, you're hot and I'm hot," Santana strokes her hands up Brittany's jean cladded thighs, marking each point off with it. "You're an amazing kisser and I'm an amazing kisser," she strokes again. "And you know, there's the sex, too, but you've already said that."

Brittany rolls her eyes. "You're ridiculous."

"And I'm rubbing off on you," Santana points out. "You just rolled your eyes."

Brittany grins. "I don't mind you rubbing off on me," she winks. "But tonight I was thinking we could get a takeaway and then..." she trails off slightly, lifting Santana's hands and spreading her fingers against tanned ones. "See how things go."

Stomach flipping, Santana nods, mind flashing with memories of last night. She feels heat pool low in her stomach at the mere thought and bites down on her bottom lip as Brittany smirks at her.

"I'd be okay with that."

Brittany cranes her neck up and Santana smiles as she meets her halfway, kissing her slowly. When she pulls away she's dizzy, a little light headed, and she takes in a deep breath as she leans forward to bury her face into the crook of Brittany's neck, sliding her arms around her girlfriends waist and pulling her against her.

"Santana! Break it up and get back to work!"

A grunt leaves her mouth as she leans back, meeting blue and rolling her eyes at Puck. "Shut up, Puckerman. There's barely anyone in the bar so stop being a dick."

Puck laughs throatily behind her but Brittany strokes her cheek with the back of her finger, grabbing her attention. Their eyes meet once more.

"I've gotta go anyway, babe," Brittany tells her. "I was only coming to say hello before I go do some errands."

Even though it kind of sucks, she wanted to spend more time with her new girlfriend, Santana nods and they kiss quickly before Brittany squeezes her hand and leaves the bar, telling her she'll be over at Santana's at six o'clock. Santana just nods and stares at the retreating form of her girlfriend as Brittany exits, throwing a '_can't wait to see you later_' look over her shoulder that makes heat coil in the pit of Santana's stomach.

When she gets back behind the bar again, Puck shoots her a knowing smirk, cocking his head toward the door to gesture to Brittany; but she just whips a towel at him and tells him to shut up, despite the fact she's grinning like an idiot because Brittany's on her mind.

/

Late at night, they're lying in bed, naked and breathless, Santana on her back with Brittany lying in the spot next to her, running her fingers over Santana's hand resting on her own abdomen.

Suddenly, Brittany shifts closer and picks up the hand, dusting her lips across the scarred knuckles before sinking back down to the bed with a long exhale, her eyebrows furrowing as she stares at the hand she just kissed, and from that, Santana knows _exactly _what's coming, so she just waits.

After a long moment, Brittany speaks, "Why do you fight?"

Santana turns her head on her pillow, offering a lopsided smile. "I don't anymore."

Blue eyes roll playfully as Brittany giggles. "Okay, smart ass," she shifts closer until their noses are squashed together. "I mean, why _did _you?"

Shrugging, Santana thinks of the pull in her stomach, telling her that this conversation is about to get serious, and she doesn't mean to be rude by what she says next, it's just that she doesn't want to talk about it. If she starts to, then she'll have to go into the reasons behind her knowledge of fighting, like where she learned to do it, and that's just delving into a whole other bunch of crap; and she's just not sure she's ready to unleash her past on Brittany.

She sighs, and presses her lips together, letting her eyes drift off into the dark room. "Britt, didn't we already have this conversation months ago?" She asks through an exhale. "When we first met, we talked about this."

Brittany doesn't seem like she's going to drop it though, and props herself on her elbow as she leans over Santana. Her palms presses to the flatness of sculpted abs, her eyes locking with Santana's again. "Yeah, I know, but I mean the real reason. Not the reason you gave to a stranger."

Even though she's not one hundred percent sure she wants to open up to Brittany, she knows she has to give her something. There's a lot of deep, dark shit that's happened in Santana's life, and sure, she can't just come out with all of it—Brittany would probably freak the fuck out if she did—but she's got to build some trust between them. She's known too many relationships to break up because of lack of honesty or trust, and she doesn't want that to happen with Brittany.

So with that thought in mind, a portion of truth just pours out.

"One night I was having a drink with Puck and a guy came in," she recalls, swallowing thickly and looking back to the ceiling. "He was shouting and yelling, saying that he could take anyone, no matter the size, weight or strength of them."

"So you fought him?" Brittany interjects, head tilted to the side.

"No," Santana shakes her head, eyes flicking to blue and back to the ceiling again. She takes in a deep breath, remembering that night. "I didn't fight him but I watched him take down like, six guys in the ring before some other guy came in. A big guy from Salt Lake city. He was ripped, like clearly ripped with his muscles bulging from his shirt and his veins visible in his arms." Her eyebrows scrunch together as she thinks of the guy. He really was huge, like almost freakishly big. "And of course the guy who'd just beat up six guys said he could take him." She pauses, licks her lips and looks down sadly, knowing what's coming next. "But with once punch to the head, the guy that was giving it all that, just died. Straight up, fist to the head and he dropped dead in the ring."

Brittany gasps next to her, her entire body tensing as her hands attempt to clutch at Santana's abdomen. "Someone _died?_"

It's probably not the best thing to admit, not with the connotations it brings considering she used to fight, but she nods anyway. "Yeah. I watched him die with a single punch," she swallows thickly, clenching her jaw and teeth. "And I was in a really shitty place back then."

Brittany shoots up immediately, bracing herself on one elbow and looking down at Santana, her hair hanging off her shoulder beside Santana's face. "You wanted to _die?_" She half-screeches. "_That's _why you started fighting?" Her eyes are wide, terrified and a pang of guilt strums through Santana as she looks at her, not quite knowing whether to reply honestly or not.

Yet despite the hesitation, she does anyway. "I wasn't suicidal," she mutters, honestly, breaking the eye contact to look away. She can't handle looking into Brittany's eyes sometimes. "I just—I was in that place where if I _did_ fight," she takes in a deep breath. "And I _did _die," Brittany's eyes stay trained in her and she slowly brings the eye contact back. "Then I wouldn't have cared," she lets out through an exhale, lifting a shoulder and letting her fingertips skirt over the notices in Brittany's spine.

"You just didn't care?" The blonde girl repeats, a little breathlessly like she can't believe what she's hearing. She narrows her eyes, shakes her head and continues, "You didn't have anything to live for?"

Santana lets out a deep breath, her hear thudding against her chest. "No, I didn't," she admits, sadly, knowing that at that time, she didn't. It was bad, and she didn't even really have Puck back then because he was just another bartender to her, supplying her with the alcohol that made her feel just a little better for then. She exhales loudly and quickly, pulling Brittany a little closer like she's her safety blanket, protecting her from her past.

"Anyway," she starts again, shaking her head and pulling herself from those depressing thoughts. "Fighting just sort of became a habit after," she explains, trying to make the situation a little lighter considering she just revealed something pretty deep. "The money was good, I never lost, and I had finally found something I was good at."

Brittany's looking down at her, wholly concerned and not even a little cheerier, and Santana sort of wishes she'd never said that. It brings up a whole bunch of other questions, of other suspicions and she's not quite sure she can open up fully yet. She's still a guarded book, her gates are still locked and even though she thinks that Brittany may be the person to finally push through them, she's not sure they're quite there yet.

Damn. How she wishes they were. Things between them would be so much easier.

Sensing the cogs turning in Brittany's mind, Santana leans up, sliding one hand around the back of the blonde's neck and pulling her down halfway so their lips meet in the middle. She kisses her slowly, softly, trying to tell her with the kiss that she's really trying to open up but she can't. She tries to tell her with the brush of her lips that she's sorry, that she wishes she could just tell her everything but she can't right now and that it sucks just as much for her as it does for Brittany because Brittany really does mean so much to her. Almost everything, actually. And it seems it works because when she pulls away, Brittany's got a lopsided smile on her face and she's gazing down at Santana with such affection and understanding that it makes Santana's heart do this weird little flip flop thing.

"But it doesn't matter anymore," she suddenly comes out with, staring up at Brittany and stroking her fingers along the fine hairs at the nape of Brittany's neck. "None of that matters anymore," she breathes, wetting her lips. "Because now I have something to live for."

The grin that spreads across Brittany's face is so wide and infectious that Santana almost finds herself smiling herself, too, but she doesn't get to that point because warm lips are covering hers and Brittany's throwing a leg over her hips, straddling her and gripping at her cheeks as her tongue dips into her mouth.

/

The next day she's with Shelby, just helping her around the house and doing some chores, but it's when they're in the laundry room that Shelby seems to notice the strangely good mood Santana's in. Only reason it being strange is because Santana's rarely in a good mood, but Santana's been smiling so damn much lately that she doesn't even notice herself until she's loading the washing machine and feels Shelby bump her shoulder.

She looks to her, sucking in both lips and trying to hide the smile she only knows is on her face because her muscles are aching again. "What?"

Shelby grins at her, almost knowingly and Santana restrains the urge to roll her eyes. "What's got into you?"

"Nothing," she replies quickly, turning her attention back to the clothes, separating the whites into the basket sitting on top of the table beside her and shoving the colors in the machine. "Why?"

"You've been different over the last few months," the older woman explains, opening the washing machine beside Santana and beginning to load it with the whites Santana's separating. Santana doesn't really know why the woman has two machines, or has enough clothes two fill up two considering she lives on her own, but whatever. "And you haven't turned up on my doorstep bloody and drunk which is a big improvement."

Feigning the need to cough, Santana clears her throat, staring intently at what she's doing. It's not like she doesn't want to tell Shelby about Brittany, but it's just that Shelby's basically a mother to her. She's the only mother figure she has in her life, only relative figure in her life, and never once has she introduced a girl to Shelby. She's never even kept a girl around long enough to even consider doing that, and shit, she's never had a girl fucking effect her like Brittany has, so introducing her to Shelby is like a _massive_deal. It's her version of meeting the parents, the siblings, the cousins, grandparents and aunties and uncles, all wrapped up into one because Shelby is her only family.

"Yeah, I—Erm... I don't fight anymore," she explains, quietly, quickly reaching up to scratch at her eyebrow to cover the expression she's pulling.

Beside her, the older woman stops completely, hand hovering in the air, clutching a pair of white socks. "Really?" She asks, voice breathless like this is the biggest news of the year. "You've stopped fighting?"

"Yeah... Yeah, I gave it up. I, erm—I'm working with Puckerman at the moment. Just some work behind the bar," she shrugs nonchalantly whilst her fingers gingerly pick up what she thinks is a thong. Gross. "It's not much but, it's better than fighting, I guess," she shrugs again, feeling a bit weird that she's explaining herself like this.

The hug she's wrapped up into barely a second after she's stopped talking is so tight she almost can't breathe, but instead she just laughs as Shelby releases her, letting her find her stability again. "That's fantastic, Santana!" Shelby cheers, smiling proudly and rubbing her shoulder. "I'm so happy for you!"

Santana nods to herself, a little proud of herself, too. "Yeah, I'm... I think I'm cleaning up my act, you know?" She says, not really asking a question as she spares a glance at Shelby who clapped her hands together in front of her, eyes shining with pride. "I think it'll be good for me."

"Definitely," the older woman agrees, strongly, beaming with joy. "And not that I'm not ecstatic because I am, but why the sudden change?"

"I just..." Santana trails off, her thoughts going wild with the debate of whether to tell Shelby the truth. If she does, she knows Brittany's going to want to meet the girl that's changed Santana. She'll want to meet the person who seems to have done the impossible, but Santana's not quite sure she's ready for that. Most people think it's the person meeting the parents that should be worried, but they never really consider how the one with the parents feel. Shit. Now she's just psyching herself out.

Fuck it, though. She might as well go for it. Brittany's amazing, she's the best thing that's ever happened to Santana and she shouldn't be hiding away, keeping her back with all these fears she has. She should embrace Brittany.

With that in mind, she twists her body so her torso's facing Shelby and takes in a deep breath. Here goes nothing.

"I've met someone." Shelby's head snaps around immediately, eyebrows shooting up. "I've met a girl, and... Yeah," she smiles to herself as Brittany races through her mind. "She's amazing," she lets out a short laugh through an exhale, furrowing her brow quickly. She can't believe she just said that out loud. She never says anything that would make her look remotely vulnerable out loud yet here she is, having to bite her tongue to stop her from gushing about her girlfriend.

"What's her name?"

Brown eyes flicker up. "Brittany," she says, breathlessly, feeling her stomach flutter as her girlfriends name rolls of her tongue. That's something she's not sure she'll ever get used to. "Her name's Brittany."

The soft smile Shelby sends her way makes her roll her eyes because she knows she looks ridiculous, smiling just because she said Brittany's freaking name. Seriously, when did she get so pathetic? Next thing she knows she's going to start gushing about her or something equally as stupid. Maybe she should just get back to the laundry.

"And she stopped you fighting?"

Santana continues sorting through the laundry as she speaks, trying to act as cool as possible. "Yeah," she tells her, but then realizes how bad that could've sounded; it's not like Brittany forced her into it, in fact, Brittany didn't even suggest it, she was just a good enough reason for Santana to stop fighting and sort her damn life out. "But it wasn't like an ultimatum or anything," she quickly adds, shrugging. Shelby raises a brow and she guesses that means she wants to know more. "I don't know... I mean, I guess she just... influenced me to stop. She made me see that there are better things to do in life than getting drunk and punching the living crap outta guys for money," she lifts a shoulder again with a smile and twists her neck to Shelby, scrunching her brows together and squinting like she's trying to get Shelby to understand.

"You know?" She asks, but doesn't really. Shelby just smiles. "She just... She was there and it was like, that Plato guy with the cave," she takes a deep breath in, grabbing the last two pieces of laundry and separating them between the washing machines. "I was surrounded by darkness and only saw the reflections of what I thought of life, and that was the bad things. But then Brittany came along and it made me wanna escape the cave I was in, and when I stepped outside, I saw everything that was real and that life isn't so bad," her brows furrow, crinkling her skin as she explains it. She's trying to understand her own words but it's getting a little muddled up. Why the hell is she trying to explain her journey with Brittany with fucking _philosophy!? _"Like, Brittany was my sun and she made everything clearer for me with her optimism when I took that step out of my cave, but she herself didn't take me out of it. She didn't force me out, she just stayed the way she was whilst I got there myself, urging me on and then when I got there, she welcomed me with open arms."

Realizing she just went on some massive philosophical rant with actual knowledge, Santana coughs, ignoring the fact that blood's rushing to her face with embarrassment as she picks the laundry basket up and hitches it against her hip, twisting to Shelby again. But when she does it, she sees the softness in the older woman's expression, the hand placed above her heart and hears the sigh that comes from her as she stares at Santana and _damn_, now she feels like the world's most adorable puppy. She fucking hates that.

"Don't look at me like that," she mumbles, ducking her head to her foot as it scuffs along the linoleum floor, making a weird little squeaking sound.

Shelby snaps out of it immediately, pushing the rest of the white washing into the tumble dryer and turning it on. She knows that Santana hates that look and Santana's so grateful she realized she was doing it before she stormed out because she actually likes Shelby, likes having a mother figure and kind of wants to keep her around.

"So..." Shelby starts up again, turning both machines on and leaning back on it when she's done, looking Santana in the eye and crossing her arms over her chest. Okay, serious talk. "Am I going to meet her?"

"Yeah," Santana counters, instantly, widening her eyes as herself for such a sharp response. Before she was freaking out about it, almost didn't even _talk _about with Shelby and now she's making a commitment to Shelby that she'll meet Brittany? What the hell is going on with her? "I just... I don't know when," she sighs, tilting her head to the side as her thoughts begin to pick up. "I want to make sure it's solid before she meets my family. She's met Puck," she offers, sucking in her bottom lip. "But it's not the same, you know?"

Shelby smiles softly again, this time making sure it's not like the time before. "That's understandable, Santana," she steps away from the machine and heads to the door. "I'll look forward to it, though," she adds, throwing a look over her shoulder. "She sounds like a keeper."

Santana just smiles to herself.

Yeah. She's beginning to think that, too.

/

**Thanks for all your reviews guys! Keep 'em coming! :)**


	3. Chapter 3

**Title:** If I Just Saved You (You Could Save Me Too) [3/4]  
**Rating:** R  
**Word Count: **9.4k

**Notes: **Hope you're enjoying so far! Thanks for all the awesome reviews and shizznizz. You guys are great :)

/

Brittany's the first one to say _I love you _and Santana's so shocked that she almost falls over.

It's not a huge moment, and it's actually sort of anticlimactic because it's just like any other night they spend together, and they're in Brittany's kitchen. Brittany's standing at the stove cooking them supper and Santana wanders in, inhaling the rich smell of chicken in tomato and basil sauce. She spots her girlfriend as she chucks her keys onto the table and instantly smiles because that's just kind of what she does nowadays. She's so pathetic that the mere mention of Brittany's name gets her all hot under the collar and shit, if people knew how girly and giggly she got in her head every time Brittany held her hand, she would definitely _not_have the reputation she has now.

She makes her way toward Brittany, pressing herself into her back and sliding her hands around slim hips, allowing her fingertips to span beneath the hem of her top to stroke over smooth skin. "Hey, gorgeous."

Brittany giggles, leaning back into her. "Hey. I'm making dinner."

"Hmm," she hums, burying her nose into Brittany's neck and inhaling. "Smells nice."

"The dinner or me?" Brittany jokes and Santana chuckles, pressing her lips to the nape of her neck.

"Both," she mumbles, kissing a path up and around Brittany's neck slowly. She feels her shiver beneath the touch and smirks against the skin, pressing her lips against her a little harder. "But I'm planning to do the same thing to the both of you by the night anyway, so."

Brittany chuckles, dropping the wooden spoon and twisting to face Santana, one arm winding around her neck whilst the other pokes at her nose. "You're being crude," she chastises, but it's playful and there's affection in her tone.

Santana just shrugs and grins. "Hey, you're the one dating me," she defends, wrinkling her nose.

"_Mmhmm," _Brittany hums, leaning in to kiss her slowly, drawing it out. "I am," she whispers against her mouth. "But our dinner is gonna burn if you keep distracting me," she adds, pulling away and giving Santana look. "So stop it."

Santana just chuckles and shifts to the side, leaning back against the counter beside the stove and curling her fingers around the edge of it. From then she just watches Brittany, tilting her head to the side and admiring how someone can do something so simple like cooking and make it look like a freaking art. It seems that Brittany can pretty do anything, whether it's cleaning her kitchen or even doing the laundry, and make it look so beautiful. It's sort of a paradox, but Santana doesn't really care; this girl's just amazing.

Brittany notices after a while, doing a double take to make sure Santana's actually staring before she reaches up and touches her face consciously. "What?" She asks, voice a little shy. "What are you looking at?"

Santana giggles to herself. "You're just sort of really beautiful," she says with a shrug.

Cheeks pinking, Brittany stares at her with a soft smile and leans over, kissing her briefly. "You are, too," she mutters but then something shifts in her eyes and Santana knits her brows together, about to question it when Brittany just blurts it out. "It's one of the many reasons I love you."

She pulls away and goes back to humming as she cooks like she didn't just say something major and Santana's just lost for words. She blinks, staring at her girlfriend with a slack jaw and tries to figure out whether she just heard the girl correctly or whether her mind's playing games with her, but she never really comes to a conclusion which leaves her standing there like a complete idiot.

Her eyes go wide as she repeats it in her mind over and over, realizing that yeah, Brittany actually did just say she loves her and _fuck_, why is she not saying anything? Brittany drops some big ass bomb on her like that and she just responds with fucking _silence? _What is that!?

Shit, wait. Why is _that _the first thing that comes to mind anyway? She doesn't even know if she loves Brittany.

Sure, she grins like a total fucking idiot at pretty much anything that Brittany does or says and spends ninety percent of her day thinking about her but that doesn't mean she loves her. Okay, they've been sleeping together for a while now, she likes watching Brittany sleep when they've finished having the best sex of her life and maybe can't think of anything better than waking up everyday to Brittany's face, but _fuck_, that doesn't mean she's fucking _in love _with Brittany...

...Does it?

"So, do you wanna eat at the table or on the sofa?" Brittany casually asks, smiling at Santana when she notices the staring.

A little stunned, Santana ignores her question and forces herself to break herself from her thoughts. "I've, uh, gotta go to the bar," she stutters, blinking furiously and looking away.

Brittany stops stirring the dinner and twists her neck, scrunching her brows together. "Sure. Are you okay?"

"Yep," Santana squeaks, rubbing a hand over her face and hastily making her way to the coat rack to grab a jacket. "Just got a random craving," she explains. "Need a bottle of wine."

Brittany follows her through to the foyer. "Okay. Is red okay? It'll go better with the sauce."

Santana nods, sliding her arms through the jacket and tugging the lapels up around her neck. "Sure, babe," she says, leaning in to kiss Brittany on the cheek quickly.

And she knows Brittany knows she's acting weird by the way she eyes her, but she can't help it and so she does the only thing she can think of and leaves.

/

The bar's pretty much dead when she walks in.

Puck's behind the bar, his foot propping the back door open so he can smoke and he's just scrolling through his phone. There's only like two other guys in here, but they're over near the cage, examining it and talking beneath their breath but Santana doesn't really give a crap about them; they look like they're on their way out anyway and she has to be quick, too.

There's a dinner waiting for her at Brittany's and a girlfriend who's probably wondering why her girlfriend didn't just tell her she loved her back, so she's probably going to have to do something about that soon. Not to mention this place stinks of stale beer and men and _ugh, _she kind of just wants to get out of here.

But she's here for a reason, but it's at that moment when she's sliding onto a stool that she figures Noah Puckerman probably _isn't _the man to go to about feelings and emotions and shit.

"The fuck you doing here?" Puck asks, exhaling a stream of smoke and flicking his cigarette butt out the back door, letting it slam shut as he wanders over to her. He leans onto the bar, palms face down and puts his weight onto his arms. "Don't you have a fine ass girlfriend waiting for you somewhere?"

She shoots him a scowl. "Bite me, Puckerman," she spits but then pauses. Insulting him won't be the best way to get advice out of him if he even has any in that thick skull of his. "Actually, it's about her."

His eyebrow lifts. "Swear to God if you dump that girl I'm gonna kick your head in."

"You could try but you'd just get your ass handed to you," she hisses but then shakes her head, looking down at her hands as she pinches the skin between her thumb and forefinger. "No, it's not that. It's just—" She pauses and looks at him. "How do you know if you're in love with someone?"

Puck gives her that _are you really asking me this?_ look but she just rolls her eyes, prompting him for an answer. "Um, okay, well," he stands tall, flicking a finger up. "First of all, if you _aren't_in love with that girl then you're a fucking idiot, and second of all," he flicks a second finger up. "You don't need to think about it. When you're in love, you're in love," he shrugs and she sucks in her lips. That doesn't really fucking help. "You just know it."

She scowls, rolls her eyes again and huffs as she pushes off the bar, getting off her stool and moving to walk out because he just basically told her she wasn't in love with Brittany, but Puck manages to reach over and catch her by the arm before she can get much further.

"Although you might be a whole other case," he says and she turns, eying him.

"What do you mean?"

"Okay," he starts, clearly readying himself for a speech. "I'm gonna do some weird shit in a minute so don't fucking judge, okay?"

She nods. "Fine, but I swear if this involves me taking off my top," she points to him. "You're losing a testicle."

He snorts, throwing his back with laughter. "Sure, Lopez," he says, bending down quickly to grab two beers from the fridge beneath the bar. He twists the caps off and slides one toward her, doing the same to his own but taking a long pull of it before speaking. "Okay, I'm gonna ask you a series of questions and you need to answer with your immediate response. No hesitations, no interruptions and if you pause for a second the question's invalid."

"What the fuck?" Santana twists her upper lip in confusion, nails scratching at the label of the beer bottle. "Where'd you get that shit from?"

"It fucking works," Puck defends. "And I saw it on a replay of _Friends_, okay?"

"Why the hell were you watching that?"

"Does it matter?" He shoots back, clearly embarrassed by his choice of television. She laughs because well, that is sort of fucking embarrassing for someone who says he never watches TV because he has better things to do and that when he has in the past, it was either porn or something to do with monster trucks.

"Obviously not," she smirks back. "Okay, so shoot."

Puck takes another sip of his beer and looks at her seriously. "Orange or red?"

"Red," she shoots back.

"Good. You're not as dumb as you look," he nods, smiling in approval and she just flips him the bird. "Boys or girls?"

"Girls," she scoffs. Isn't that obvious?

"Like we didn't know that already," he smirks back at her and she rolls her eyes again, lifting a brow after.

"What happened to no interruptions, douchebag?" She snaps and he lifts both hands, palm facing her, beside his face defensively.

"Okay, okay. Have you ever had a sex dream about me?"

"Hell, no."

"Damn," he curses himself. "Which is better, tits or ass?"

"Ass."

"Have you and Brittany had sex?"

"Yes," she retorts, instantly hating herself and watching as the perverted cogs turn in his mind. "Move on before you lose your balls."

"Such a killjoy," he comments, smiling at her. "Scotch or beer?"

"Beer."

"Book or TV."

"Book."

"Do you secretly watch X Factor?"

"No."

"Are you in love with Brittany?"

"Yes."

It takes a long second for her to realize what she just said, but then she sees the smirk on Puck's face and it kicks her into action. Holy shit. She's in love with Brittany. She's actually in love with a girl and that girl loves her back. Holy fucking crap. That's like the biggest fucking thing _ever_.

"Guess you got your answer then," Puck straightens up and pulls the beer bottle to his lips, taking a long slurp of it.

Except Santana's kind of out of it. If she thought she was stunned when Brittany said she loved her then she was really fucking wrong. It's not like she's surprised that she's in love with Brittany, so to speak, it's just that she's surprised she's _capable_ of loving someone, of falling _in _love with someone.

But then she thinks about how it's Brittany who she's in love with and suddenly, it doesn't seem so difficult. It was just so easy to fall in love when it was Brittany she was falling in love with.

"I love her," she breathes, mostly to herself but Puck still catches on, whipping the rag at her arm until she's forced to come out of her thoughts. "What?" She spits.

"If you love her why the fuck are you sitting here?

She looks up at him, almost shocked by the question but then she asks herself it and realizes, yeah, why the fuck _is_she here?

She pushes up off the stool and runs out the bar without another word, leaving her untouched beer behind.

/

When she gets back, the table's set and dinner's out, and she manages to think for a split second how amazing it is to have this to come home to but then Brittany comes skipping into the room with two wine glasses in hand and Santana's attention is drawn away from the delicious supper.

"Hey, baby," Brittany greets with a grin, sidling up and looping her arms loosely around her neck. She kisses her slowly, softly and Santana pulls away breathless, a little dazed, too, and smiles goofily at her girlfriend, her fingers creeping beneath the hem of a baggy shirt. It's almost like she wasn't here less than twenty minutes ago.

"Where's the wine?" Brittany continues, tilting her head to the side and knitting her eyebrows together.

Shit. Santana was so caught up in talking to Puck that she forgot the reason she supposedly went out in the first case. _Fuck it._

"They ran out," she lies, shrugging a little as her thumb strokes over the dimples in Brittany's lower back. "Sorry."

Brittany kisses her again quickly before spinning around and heading toward the kitchen. "That's fine. I'm sure we have some here anyway."

Gulping, Santana nods and watches her girlfriend whilst gingerly taking a seat at the table. Her fingers clasp together beneath the table and she bobs her knee, suddenly hating herself for being nervous but she doesn't know how she's supposed to say that she loves Brittany, too. Does she bring up earlier? Say something like _'Hey, you know when you said earlier you love me? I love you too' _or would that just be super lame?

Damn. It totally would be.

But does that mean she should just wait until later when they're in bed, doing their thing, and stop to look her in the eyes and tell her then? Although she does acknowledge that if they're doing their thing she highly doubts she'd be able to stop herself either mid-orgasm or mid-Brittany's-orgasm just to tell her she loves her.

Why the hell is this so damn hard? She just wants Brittany to know. Stupid love.

"And dinner is served," Brittany says and Santana blinks, suddenly finding her girlfriend sliding into the chair opposite her with an open bottle of wine, and then she just continues staring. She watches her, gazes at her with awe just like she did the other day and wonders how the hell someone can be so perfect. How the hell someone this amazing can actually be real? And even more so, how someone like that actually _love _Santana and want to be around her?

Fuck. If she thought she was nervous before she was horridly wrong.

She can hear her pulse thrumming in her neck. She can hear the blood racing in her ear. She can feel the signs of sweat forming on her brow and holy fuck, she might actually pass out right now. Shit. Fuck it. She's not going to wait for the opportune moment to say it because she thinks she's just going to burst if she does. Hell, she can't fucking handle it right now and she's only been thinking about it for a few hours so waiting any longer might actually put her health at risk.

"Babe, do you want some?" Brittany asks softly, holding out the bottle and looking so fucking wonderful and beautiful that the words just blurt from Santana's mouth without another thought; her eyes squeezed shut, face scrunched up and hands clasped together so tight she's scared she might actually break a damn bone.

_"IknowIdidn'tsayitearlierbutIloveyoutoo,"_ she spills, bobbing her knee nervous. There's a second of silence and it just manages to freak out her out more, coaxing her to continue. _"Justincaseyouwerewonderingor whatever."_

Another two beats of silence later, and she hears Brittany giggle, round the table and push her away enough to take a seat on her lap. Arms wind around her neck, and Santana retracts both hands, unclasping them to grasp onto her girlfriend, wanting to hold her steady but still not wanting to open her eyes to see her girlfriends reaction. Like seriously, damn, that's the first time she's ever said those three words to someone and it was basically one hot mess; it was almost a yell, basically an entire sentence and she didn't even take a breath between words which meant it came out spluttered and muddled up.

Still, she got through it and actually did it.

Fuck. She _actually _did it.

"I know," comes from above her through a whisper and she scrunches one side of her face up, cracking open one eye to peer at her girlfriend.

"You do?"

Brittany's face splits into a grin and she nods, leaning down to kiss her quickly. "Of course," she says, pulling back. "So, do you want some wine?"

It's so anticlimactic that when Brittany kisses her again, she doesn't even kiss back and ends up watching with a slack jaw as Brittany climbs off her lap with a satisfied smile and moves back to what she was doing, casually pouring two glasses of wine and continuing with their dinner like something major _didn't _just happen between them. What the fuck?

"You," Santana stutters, clearing her throat and the lump in it. "You know?"

Brittany looks up with a calm face, offering a soft nod as she stops pouring the wine. "It was kind of obvious, San," she says and Santana's heart thumps loudly against her rib cage; is she really that obvious? The blonde just shrugs again though and smiles, going back to filling up a glass of wine as she speaks. "I was just waiting until you were comfortable to say it back before I said it."

It's such a serious conversation, one that Santana would actually like to focus on and it's sort of irritating her how damn nonchalant Brittany is being about this. So she stands, grabbing the bottle of wine out of Brittany's hand (simultaneously ignoring the way blue eyes flash to her with confusion) and sets it down, turning back to grasp pale hands and tug her girlfriend closer.

"How did you know?" She breathes, her eyes darting between each of Brittany's. "And why didn't you say anything about me freaking out and not saying it back?"

A smile plays at the corners of Brittany's lips. "I've been in love with you for a while, Santana," she whispers like it's a stage secret. "And I've known you love me too for a while, as well," she tells her and Santana jerks her head back. Even she doesn't know when she fell in love with the girl, but she supposes it isn't a certain thing that makes you fall in love with someone, it's a whole bunch of things along a certain amount of time. And it was only when Brittany said it that Santana actually discovered that somewhere along the line she'd been falling, hard and fast and somehow ended up madly in love with the girl, even when she thought it wasn't possible for her to do that.

"But then I woke up this morning with you staring at me, I knew in that instant that I had to tell you out loud," she shrugs and Santana's heart soars inside her chest. Hot damn, she really is in love. "I wanted to hear you say it back and it didn't bother me when you didn't earlier because even though you didn't, I could see it in your eyes and knew it was a matter of time before you did say it out loud," she smiles gently and shifts forward, bumping their noses together and ghosting her lips over Santana's. "And I guess I was right."

A scoff like chuckle comes from Santana's lips as she leans forward, the tips of their lips now touching. "I could've said it first," she utters and lets her eyes fall shut as Brittany smiles. Shit. That's gonna get addictive.

"As if."

"I could have," she tries again, stroking her nose over Brittany's cheek and still not kissing her as their fingers tangle together by their hips.

"Just shut up and say it again."

A grin spreads over her face and she lets herself feel Brittany's breath blanket over the lower half of her face. "I love you," she sighs and wets her lips, preparing herself for a kiss that her girlfriend's only too glad to give.

It's slow, and sweet, and Santana can feel those words seep into her soul, wrap around her heart and hug her warmly. She's never said those words, nor has she had them said to her and she honestly, can't think of a better feeling than this. But when she pulls back, Brittany's grinning at her and well, that's almost as good too and so she just smiles and watches as her girlfriend saunter back to the kitchen, suddenly wanting nothing more than to hold her and kiss her.

Which is why, "Can we eat this cold?" comes out her mouth.

Brittany just spins around, her face confused and eyes narrowed. "Why would we eat it cold?"

Santana smirks and dips her head. "Because I plan on showing you just how I much I love you," she draws out, suggestively.

And there must be a certain glint in her eye, or a look on her face, but Brittany immediately gets it, her face splitting into a grin and she begins walking backwards down the hall towards the bedroom, yelling and giggling, "Santana!" when Santana begins chasing after her with an equally large smile on her face.

/

The months go by in the blink of an eye, and before she knows it, it's their six month anniversary.

It's crazy because she's never been in a relationship that's lasted this long. She's never _wanted_ to be in a relationship that lasted this long because she usually can't stand the other person by the second month, but it's the complete opposite with Brittany; she just can't get enough and she actually finds herself looking forward to going home because most of the time Brittany's there. She used to hate it before because all that would greet her was cold air and an eery silence, but now it's bright smiles, golden hair, crystal blue eyes and soft lips. Now it's _nice _to go home and fuck it, Santana's just really fucking happy.

So one night, when they're lying in bed just cuddling, Santana staring up at the ceiling, tracing patterns up Brittany's arm as the blonde lies on her chest, a suggestion arises and Santana sort of blinks, not knowing how to react. She looks down at her girlfriend, unsure whether she heard her correctly but Brittany's just staring up at her, clearly waiting for an answer that Santana hasn't quite got yet.

"Wait, what?" She asks and Brittany shifts, propping herself on her elbow beside Santana's head and looking down at her.

"I was thinking that soon, we could go to Chicago for the weekend," Brittany echoes, her hand gliding up the vest top covering her girlfriend's torso as her eyes dart between dark ones. "You know, so you could meet my friends."

Santana's jaw drops open and she blinks. She never really thought about meeting Brittany's friends. "You want me to meet your friends?"

Brittany nods, a smile growing across her face. "Yeah. I mean, I love you," she says with an ounce of shyness, and Santana's heart skips a beat. "And I know they will, too. You're a part of my life and so are they, so I want you to meet them."

Understanding where she's coming from, Santana nods but still has her hesitations. See, she's not exactly what you'd call a 'people person.' There's a reason why she's never had a lot of friends, and why she just hangs out with Puck. People don't really tend to like her, and she knows it's because she has what has been described as a 'stand-offish' personality, but that's the only way she knows how to be. And if she meets Brittany's friends and they don't like her, she knows that it'll cause a rift in their relationship. That always happens when the friends of your partner don't like you, and she's really happy at the moment. She doesn't want that to fuck up.

Though, on the other hand, if she says no, she knows it'll probably lead to an argument anyway and that'll fuck it up.

Plus, what's the worst that can happen?

So with a short nod and a deep breath, she says, "Yeah, okay," and Brittany bounces in her spot excitedly before pressing their lips together and smiling against her mouth.

"They're gonna love you," she whispers.

But Santana can't bring herself to say she knows because she doesn't, so she just kisses Brittany again and rolls her over, settling half over her and letting her hand drift down and dip beneath the waistband of Brittany's shorts into wet heat barely seconds later.

They don't talk for the rest of the night.

/

Santana's introduced to Mike, Sam, Tina, Quinn and Sugar that weekend. She smiles at them, and they all greet her warmly as they walk into a bar Brittany apparently always used to come to. They all get along quite well, and Santana feels like it's a little weird because she's never usually around this many people without some of them chanting her on to kick the crap out of someone. And yeah, okay, that part of her life is gone now, but it doesn't stop her from feeling really fucking weird, but Brittany must notice the slight discomfort because she reaches beneath the table and grabs the hand she has on her thigh.

Though as the night goes on—only two hours actually, but still—she still feels the discomfort and looks around, finding a pair of hazel eyes locked onto her intensely. It's more than strange, and she looks away, instead focusing on the way Sam keeps smiling at Brittany like he's a lost puppy that just found its home, and hopes that Quinn will look away, too. But it never happens and so she ends up keeping an eye on Quinn at the same time she's trying not to give into the urge to leap across the table and strangle Sam.

But eventually Sugar taps the table, jumping up and bounces excitedly as she tells them that she's going to get a round of shots. Tina goes with her, and Brittany takes this time to kiss Santana on the cheek and tell her she's going to the ladies room, which unsettles Santana even further because she's just left with Quinn, Sam and Mike, and just as she expected, Quinn strikes.

"So what do you do for a living, Santana?" The blonde asks, pinching the stem of the wine glass sitting in front of her.

Santana doesn't really want to say but she knows it'd be suspicious if she didn't and she's already getting the feeling Quinn doesn't like her; so she just tells the truth, "I used to fight, but now I work at a bar."

To her right, Mike smiles and bobs his head, looking genuinely interested by the subject. "Really?" He chimes in, leaning toward her. "What type of fighting?"

She knows saying something like boxing would be a little better, because then it wouldn't make her look like a complete thug, but she doesn't know whether Brittany's told Quinn anything about her. "Um, cage fighting, actually."

Both Sam and Mike's eyebrows shoot up, and a satisfied smirk almost tugs at Santana's lips as she looks to Sam who subtly shifts his chair further away from her. Good. Now he knows if he tries anything with Brittany she can kick his ass.

"So you beat up sweaty, aggressive men for a living?" Quinn sneers, her tone nothing but demeaning and disapproving.

Santana just straightens up, knowing she won't let the blonde win this... whatever it is. "I did," she confirms. "But I don't anymore."

"Why's that?"

It's Sam that slide in the question but Quinn completely disregards him, and sits forward, her eyes narrowing with a challenge as she continues to glare at Santana. "So you're violent?"

"Quinn," Mike hushes, almost like a teacher would to do shut a student up. "Stop it."

Though Santana knows that Quinn's just trying to protect her friend, to dig out information about the girl her friend's dating and Santana gets that. So with a quick smile at Mike, she says, "No, it's fine," before addressing the question asked. "And no, I'm not violent," she pointedly says to Quinn then meets Sam's eye. "And I don't do it anymore because Brittany came into my life and gave me a reason to stop."

"You really love her, huh?" Mike says, his face soft and eyes too, and Santana can tell he knows the feeling. She thinks he's dating Tina, after all.

"I do," she says strongly and honestly never meant anything more in her life.

But it seems Quinn isn't entirely convinced because she just narrows her eyes and leans back in her seat, lifting her chin and folding her arms across her chest, her expression just dripping disapproval. And Santana knows that look because it's the exact same one her parents used to give her all those years ago, and the exact same one Brittany and Puck gave her when she used to stumble from the cafe with blood swiped across her face and her knuckles swollen and throbbing.

Though it feels more intense now, and it hurts a little more because Santana's not doing anything of that anymore. She doesn't fight, doesn't drink, nor does she sell drugs anymore and that's when it hits her, really sucker punches her in the gut: Quinn doesn't think she's good enough for Brittany.

And that's just a confirmation of the fear that she's had for a while now, because ever since they first kissed, she's known that she's worthless when it comes to Brittany. She knows that someone out there could offer Brittany better things, brighter things and bigger things, and yet for some reason that she'll never understand, Brittany's chosen to be with her. Brittany's fallen in love with _her_, and even though she knows Brittany could do _so_ much better, that Brittany _deserves_so much better, she's grateful every single day that she was the chosen one, so to speak, because she's never been happier in her life.

It just seems that Quinn doesn't acknowledge that, and just sees Santana like the worthless piece of crap she once was. Or, apparently, still is.

(Now she's thinking.)

Brittany comes back from the toilet at that moment, Tina and Sugar back from the bar with a tray of shots and Santana forces a smile on her face when her girlfriend slides into the booth next to her, reaching for her hand beneath the table at the same time she kisses her on the cheek. It doesn't go amiss the way Sam's nostrils flare at the action, nor does it go amiss that he purposely looks away, sipping his beer, but she doesn't really know what to focus on right now; the fact that Quinn doesn't think she's good enough for Brittany or that there's a guy, barely a meter away from her girlfriend that's going to need a bucket because he looks _that_ love sick over Brittany.

But it seems she doesn't hide the struggle very well because Brittany pulls back, cocking her head to the side and stares at Santana. "What's wrong?"

Santana just looks away from Sam and Quinn, and gazes back at her girlfriend, knowing that there's no point in worrying Brittany over something that might be nothing.

So she puts on a smile, kisses Brittany on the nose and says, "Nothing," before Sugar all hands them their shots with an excited grin.

/

Half an hour later, it's her turn to get in some of the drinks and she gets in all the orders before heading up to the bar with some empty glasses. She's barely there for a minute, trying to catch the bartenders attention when a body sidles up next to hers and she turns to find Sam standing there, leaning against the bar and looking down at the glass she was previously drinking out of in her hand.

"How come you're not drinking?" He asks in lieu of a greeting.

Brown eyes flicker down to the glass momentarily. "I am."

Sam just eyes the glass, spotting the Coca-Cola sign carved on the side. "Has it got rum or vodka in it or something?"

Santana instantly realizes he meant drinking alcohol and she quickly shakes her head, muttering the order to the bartender when he comes over before answering Sam's question once the drinks are being made. "No, I'm drinking alcohol. I've already had a shot and that's enough."

"So you're not drinking, then," he repeats and Santana squints, not quite sure where this is leading. She turns her whole body so it's facing him, and raises a brow. She can't be dealing with his shit if she's already got Quinn's to deal with.

"Sorry, is there something I can help you with?"

Sam wets his lips, his eyes shifting back to the booth where the group is. "I just came to talk to you about Britt," he says, glancing back at her and suddenly her interest is perked.

"What about her?" She asks, grabbing a tray from a pile of them to her right as the bartender begins sliding over the ordered drinks.

Sam begins helping her, grabbing a few straws and mixing sticks from the containers by the till. "How long have you been together?"

Considering the way he was leering at Brittany earlier, Santana wonders whether he's finding out the information to know whether he has a chance or not. "Six months," she replies, narrowing her eyes and letting them slide to him. "Why do you care?"

"She's my best friend," he fires back but Santana doesn't believe it. He's totally into her and he's just doing some field work.

"You sure that's it?" She asks, clearly implying that there might be more than friendship feelings on his side. Sam just whips his head around, eyes wide and ridiculously oversized lips open in an 'o' shape.

"What?" He half-screeches, completely stunned.

Santana just throws him a look. She may have been hit in the head one too many times but that hasn't made her stupid. "You like her," she says, laying it all out on the line but Sam shakes his head, waving her off and clicks his tongue as he diverts his gaze back to the drinks on the tray.

"No, I don't," he spits, too defensively. "That's ridiculous."

It's the way he says it that really pisses her off, and she steps a little closer, looking at him with a slight glare. "Don't bullshit me, Sam, I know you do." He looks at her but he's not shocked. In fact, he looks a little angry. "And it's fine because it's hard _not_to be into her, but don't try and give me some lame ass lie about why you're up here. I know why you are."

His face contorts with sheer confusion and she rolls her eyes a little, wondering if he was dropped on his head as a baby.

"You're checking out the competition," she points out and Sam doesn't flinch. Yep. He really _is_doing that. "And that's okay, but you should know we're happy," she says and her voice softens in a way it only does when she's talking about Brittany. "I'm not going to apologize for that if it hurts your feelings just because I'm dating her. But you should know that she's the best thing that's ever happened to me, and I don't plan on letting her go anytime soon."

It's supposed to be a gentle way of telling Sam to back the hell of her girl, but it seems he doesn't take it that way because the next thing she knows, he's smirking at her and narrowing his eyes, saying, "You know she was planning on selling her grandads place, right?"

It catches her off guard a little because she didn't know that, but she plays it cool. Just because that was the plan all those months ago doesn't mean it is now.

"Maybe she's changed her mind," she offers and takes another drink from the bartender, shooting him a brief smile in thanks.

Though something in her sentence must piss him off because he steps closer, lowering his voice and looking down at her with hard eyes. "She doesn't belong there, Santana," he almost warns and grabs a hold of her bicep to say it in her ear.

She just looks down to her arm and up again, her face saying _"get the fuck off me" _without her mouth doing it because she swears if he touches her again, she's going to rip his freaking balls off. He drops his hand immediately, and she bites back the urge to smirk because he totally knows she could kick the crap out of him if she wanted to. "What's that meant to mean?"

Sam just offers a shrug. A simple lift of his left shoulder like he's pretending he isn't trying to get to her. "Just that if you think you two are going to be together for a long time then you better start thinking about moving," he explains, glancing back at her with a smugness that she immediately wants to smack off. "Brittany's coming back at some point and staying in Grantsville is only going to make her more and more homesick." He pauses and she takes the brief silence to note the way her heart's thumping loudly against her chest like she's waiting to hear bad news. "She was only supposed to stay there for a month whilst she sorted out her grandads will and stuff," he continues and grabs the drink the bartender hands him, taking a sip. "But apparently _you _made her stay longer, and now I get a call every week from her boss asking her when she's coming back, because she was only supposed to be gone for a month. But I don't know what to say and neither does she."

Santana swallows thickly. "She likes it there," she tries but Sam just lifts a brow, skeptically.

"She told you that?"

It makes something click within her brain because no, not once has Brittany told her that and she finds herself involuntarily glancing at Brittany, laughing with Tina, realizing just that. "No," she says, her voice a little breathless. But then she sees the way Sam's looking at her and picks herself up again, back straight and voice hard. "But she's never said she doesn't like it."

"Because it's _Brittany_," Sam fires back instantly and Santana finds herself in doubt. "She's too polite to say anything, and you should know that, being her girlfriend and all," he quirks and she glares at him again, biting down on her tongue because she just _knows_ that was a jab at her. "But she belongs in a place like this, and you know it, Santana." He lowers his face again, putting her down and she hates that it's fucking working. "She belongs in a big city, with big opportunities and better..." his eyes trace down her body before meeting her eyes again. _"Options."_

It shouldn't affect her the way it does because she's used to people trying to tear her down, but she guesses that's physically and being torn down emotionally isn't something she's used to. So it really hits her hard, harder than before, and she knows he's saying that she's not good enough for Brittany just like Quinn was because it settles as a heavy discomfort low in her gut. It's not even like she can fight her point either, because everything he's said has been everything that's lingered at the back of her mind for months now. It's everything she's been worried, no, _terrified _about because she's always known she's never been good enough for Brittany.

And so she says nothing more, and instead bites on her tongue and shoves her left hand in her pocket because punching Sam probably wouldn't be the best way to go.

Sam just picks up the tray and says, "Thanks for the drinks," with a wink before he heads back to the table.

Santana pays for the tab and tries not to think about it.

(Except it's all she _can _think about.)

/

She's silent for the trip back. She stares out the window of the plane, barely holding onto Brittany's hand when her girlfriend laces their fingers together and stays withdrawn and quiet. Brittany shoots her quizzical looks that slowly turn concerned toward the end of the journey back home and it almost gets unbearable when they get back to Santana's house and they've shared no more than five words between Chicago and Grantsville.

And that's when Brittany snaps, when they're standing alone in Santana's living room and they're just looking at each other.

"What's wrong?" The blonde asks, and it's like she's trying to be angry but it's just not working.

Santana just looks at her though, feeling something clench inside her chest as she drops her head and shakes it. "Nothing," she whispers and turns, heading through the living room to the kitchen where she opens the fridge and grabs a beer, quickly plucking off the cap and taking a long pull.

Brittany follows her, stopping in the archway of the kitchen and eyes the beer for a long moment. "That's the first beer you've had in months," she points out and Santana takes the bottle away from her lips. "So don't lie."

It kind of pisses Santana off though because she can hear the judgmental tinge in her girlfriend's voice. "I'm allowed to drink, Britt," she spits, leaning against the counter. "You can't tell me I'm not allowed to."

"I'm not telling you you're not allowed to," Brittany replies after jerking her head back in shock at Santana's tone. "I've never stopped you from drinking. That was your own choice."

Santana clenches her jaw. "Well, maybe I stopped drinking because you kept giving me that same fucking look my parents used to give me when they were disappointed in me," she grits out and Brittany flinches, hearing about Santana's parents for the first time.

"I didn't... It wasn't on purpose," the blonde whispers and Santana hates how small Brittany looks, but it doesn't stop the anger from bursting through.

"Yeah, well, you're friends seem to have perfected it, too."

Brittany's head snaps up, blue eyes narrowing. "What?"

The memory of Sam and Quinn telling her she wasn't good enough racks through her brain and she squeezes her eyes shut, fingers clenching around the neck of the bottle she's holding. She knows she shouldn't be this angry at Brittany for something her friends did, but she just can't help it. "Fucking Quinn and Sam," she spits.

Brittany steps closer, eyebrows furrowed. "What did they do?"

Her head snaps up, her breaths now short and heavy as she stares at her girlfriend with an _are you serious?_ expression pasted on her face. "Quinn fucking _hated_ me, Britt," she hisses, stepping forward and poking herself hard in the chest. "She looked at me like I was a piece of _shit _on the bottom of her fucking shoe." Blue eyes go wide. "And Sam," she breathes his name out through a dry laugh, her voice dropping into a soft, angered tone. "Sam pretty much told me that you were moving back here and that I wasn't good enough for you," she stares hard at Brittany, tongue pressed against her teeth. "Probably because he wants to make a move on you," she adds, muttered beneath her breath.

Brittany takes a small step forward, offering her palms out and head shaking slightly. "Quinn doesn't hate you," she starts, her voice too soft. "And I don't know what you're talking about with Sam."

"You weren't there with Quinn!" Santana blurts out angrily, slamming her palm down onto the counter top. "And come _on_, Britt. Sam's _totally _into you!"

The blonde just shakes her head slowly, eyes squinting. "Sam isn't into me and Quinn..." blue eyes flicker off. "She takes a lot to warm up to," she mutters.

"I don't care, Brittany!" Santana yells, running a hand through her hair and tugging lightly. "I'm not going to put up with their bullshit when they have _no_ idea what I've been through!" She screeches, now pacing around the kitchen, her skin hot and veins burning with anger. "And Sam was fucking _drooling _over you," she adds, twirling around and looking her girlfriend in the eye. "If looks could kill, I'd be fucking dead right now."

"So does that mean you're not going to put up with me?"

Santana stops, eyes locking with blue. "What?"

"I don't know what you've been through," Brittany says, voice low. "You never talk to me, so why should you put up with my 'bullshit," she finger quotes the word. "If I give you the look you so desperately _hate _from my friends." She's now within Santana's personal bubble, glaring down at her with flared nostrils and glossy eyes. "And for the record, Sam means _nothing_ to me and never will. I love _you_, in case you'd forgotten."

Usually hearing that makes Santana's heart skip and breath hitch, but right now she's seeing too much red and feeling too much heat to even react to it. How can Brittany even think that? Santana wasn't talking about her when she meant about not knowing anything, and she thought Brittany understood why she wasn't going to open up. It's how they work. Santana opens up when she feels ready and Brittany listens. The blonde's never had a problem with that before.

"Don't twist my words," she hisses, pointing her finger. "I wasn't saying anything about _you_. Your friends just know fuck all about me and yeah, you might love me now but what happens when you move back to Chicago?" She asks, the words hurting as she pass through her lips. She can't imagine a world where Brittany doesn't love her and where she doesn't love Brittany. "There are much _better options _there than a shit hole like this," she points to the ground, her face scrunching up and eyebrows knitting together. "Including fish lipped blondes," she whispers and ducks her chin to her chest.

But Brittany's right there, pinching her chin and forcing her to look up into dark blue eyes. "I never said I wanted to move back to Chicago."

Santana swallows against the thickening coat lining her throat and blinks back the tears. She can't cry. She won't cry. "So you're just going to stay here all your life?" She asks, her voice soft but the anger still present. "What about your job, Britt? You've already been away for six months and you were only supposed to be gone for one."

Confusion flashes across blue eyes, and Santana knows Brittany's wondering how she even knows that. "I'll find another job, Santana," the blonde replies and really, she has an answer to everything tonight. But it's just not the right answer for Santana, and she breathes out heavily as her eyes dart between each of Brittany's. "I just don't get why we're fighting."

Her hand comes up, pushing the one on her face off and she twirls away again, the anger slicing back through her and bubbling beneath her veins. "Because I'm not good enough for you!" She yells, back to Brittany but then turns back around, staring her girlfriend in the eye. "This is _my_ life. I've lived here since I was eighteen and I run things in a certain way." She wets her lips, blowing out her cheeks because this feels an awful like something she doesn't want to happen. "I'm never going to want to leave because I'm comfortable here," her finger points to the floor. "And you don't belong in a place like this," she breathes, repeating Sam's earlier words and feeling the heat prick at her eyelids. Fuck. She really _can't_cry. "You deserve better and one day you'll want that and I won't be able to give yo it." Brittany stares at her, long and hard, clearly not wanting to hear this but Santana just crosses her arms over her chest and straightens up. "Maybe your friends were right about me," she finishes with a shrug.

Brittany just takes a step forward, her shoulders slumped and a tear now trailing down the expanse of her soft, pale cheek. "Why are you saying this?" She asks, her voice breaking as she moves a little closer. "We love each other."

Santana takes a step back on instinct, clenching her jaw. "Love isn't always enough," she shrugs. "And I don't get how you can love me when, like you said, you don't know anything about me."

"I know I love you," the blonde counters and there's barely a meter between them, but it feels like miles. "And one day you'll be able to tell me everything but I love you enough to wait for you."

Squeezing her eyes shut, Santana presses her fist to her forehead. "I _have _let you in as much as I can," she growls beneath her breath. "But you shouldn't have to wait for me." She looks up, meeting blue eyes and for some reason, Sam's words from earlier come shooting straight back to her mind and in a flash, she's angry, bitter and jealous again, her features hardening. "Though I'm sure if you wanted to know anything about Sam then he'd tell you right away." Pink lips pop open in shock. In hurt. "I'm not a good choice for you."

"I make my own choices," Brittany lifts a foot to step closer but Santana's hand shoots out, stopping her and the blondes face drops, rejection stinging her visible.

"Well you haven't made any good ones so far so maybe you should do something about that," Santana hisses, trying not to let this softness that's crept into their conversation on. If this is going to happen, if she's going to get angry and fight with her girlfriend, then she's going to get in the right mindset. She can't let Brittany touch her or Brittany talk her down.

"Like what?"

Santana lets out a dry laugh. "I don't know," she closes her eyes and pinches the bridge of her nose before the words come to her and she meets her girlfriend's gaze once more. "But maybe Sam and Quinn can help you out because they're just so damn perfect."

"I told you Quinn takes time to warm up to and that I. Don't. Want. Sam." Brittany's voice is back to the hardness it had before and Santana hates the way she just wants to break down, fall to her knees and beg for her girlfriend's forgiveness.

"Well maybe I don't believe you," blurts from her mouth and she almost cups it, hoping that somehow it'll stop the words from reaching Brittany's ears but Brittany's already straightening up, her face contorting with disappointment and hurt. She shakes her head, and Santana's mouth drops open but she's never been anything if not stubborn and she finds herself shutting it just as quick, watching as Brittany's jaw clenches, eyes harden and nostrils flare.

"Screw you, Santana," Brittany hisses out, lowly and spins around, disappearing into the living room.

And because Santana loves her, because she didn't mean it and wishes she could just take everything she said back, she puts down her beer and follows her girlfriend. "Britt," she calls but the blonde makes no move to stop. "Britt, I didn't mean it like that."

Brittany pauses by the front door, but only to grab a scarf and her jacket and put them on. "Sure as hell sounded like it," she spits, taking her hair out from beneath the collar of her jacket.

Santana reaches for her, fingers barely grazing her wrist. "Britt—"

"Don't," the blonde cuts in, yanking open the door with force and letting it collide heavily with the door.

Santana steps out after her, trying to reach out to catch Brittany but the blonde's faster and twirls around, eyes now filled with anger and teeth bared.

"I'm going to sleep at my house tonight," she growls and Santana gulps. "You're _not _invited. Goodnight, Santana."

Santana's hand drops, it feeling a heavier than usual and she wants nothing more than to stop Brittany as the blonde wanders down the path, clutching her coat close to her as the breeze hits her. And Santana can't do anything but watch helplessly, storming inside and slamming the door shut, pounding her fist against the wood and pressing her forehead to it next.

Fuck.


	4. Chapter 4

**Title:** If I Just Saved You (You Could Save Me Too) [4/4]  
**Rating: **R**  
****Word Count: **15.5k

**Notes: **Just like to point out that this has been SO fun to write and I've loved your guys reviews on it! Although I am also going to point out that I am _not _happy about this chapter. It just doesn't feel right for the ending but it's the best I could think of, so I do apologize but if you don't like it, I'm with you brutha and I wouldn't blame you.

/

Santana's always been stubborn, even as a kid. In fact, she actually remembers her mom telling her how she was in labor for thirty seven hours because Santana (apparently) was choosing when _she _wanted to come out. Not when it was convenient for everyone else but for her, which could explain why she came out screaming at five in the morning and had to yank her mother's doctor out of bed.

But anyway, that's not the point. She's stubborn, and always has been and that's why she leaves it three days before apologizing to Brittany. Granted, it's on her mind for all of those seventy-two hours, but she never actually does anything until the fourth day. Though, strangely enough, it's not actually her that prompts the apology.

She's at work, scrubbing over the same spot she has been for the past two hours when Puck says anything.

"You really need to do something about that because you're depressing the customers."

"Fuck off, Puckerman," she spits, turning her head. "And it's not like the people who come in here aren't already fucking depressed."

Puck comes up to her side, hand covering her own and she glares at him, all ready to rip his damn hand off when his other hand settles on his shoulder. He must really want to lose his balls today. "Just do something about it," he commands, softly, eyes pleading. "Please."

Her jaw clenches and she narrows her eyes even further, but can't deny that she's been fucking awful to be around. For the past three days she's been storming around with metaphorical steam blowing out her ears, yelling at anyone that pissed her off even the tiniest bit and slamming drinks down for customers, spilling half the contents and receiving a few complaints; but honestly, she couldn't really give a damn. She has a right to be pissed off, upset too, but she doesn't show her emotions unless it's anger and so, well, that speaks for itself.

"Now you're off for the rest of the evening, whether you like or not," Puck shoots her a look as he backs away and she scowls. "So go home," he demands but then stops, an invisible light bulb popping above his head as he leans on the bar. "Better yet, go to Brittany's and fucking apologize because you're not coming back until you're in a better mood."

He has a point, but she still stands still, testing his threat with a pointed expression and raised eyebrow. After a few seconds he rolls his eyes, clicks his tongue and moves toward her, pushing his body into her until she's forced to stumble back and before she knows it, she's being forced out from behind the bar and he's shutting the little door to block her from coming back in. When she reaches for it, ready to come back, he slaps away her hand and heat floods across her skin as she snaps her head up.

Though apparently he's used to this glare and the beating that never follows through and throws his rag over his shoulder before saying, "Go before I fire your ass."

She scowls and throws the rag in her hand down on the bar in a huff, reaching for the swing door leading to behind the bar but Puck coughs and she glances up. "I need my coat," she explains and his eyes narrow before he nods and quickly ducks to pick up her coat from beneath the bar, throwing it at her.

"Now get going," he says, pointing a the door. "And I'm serious. Don't come back 'til you've made up with your girl."

Shrugging on her jacket, she mutters, "Asshole," as she flicks up the lapels of her jacket and leaves.

To Brittany's it is.

/

She stands at the door, shifting her weight from leg to leg, debating how she's going to approach this until the frustration just gets too much and she raps on the door twice.

Brittany opens the door, a smile on her face as she holds her cell phone to her ear but it promptly fades as their eyes meet. Her face hardens immediately as she takes the phone away from her ear and stands up straight, tucking her free hand beneath her arm as she tells the person on the phone that she'll call them back. Santana just waits, biting her lip nervously with her hands shoved in her pockets and shoulders squared. She won't run from this.

Once she's hung up, Brittany crosses her other arm over her chest and lifts her chin.

"Yes?" She finally says.

Santana tilts her head, exhaling heavily as her eyes linger over her girlfriend. She can't lie; she's missed her so much. "Can I come in?"

"Nope," Brittany replies, leaning against the doorway to block the way. "Is there something else?"

She takes a minute to think of what she's going to say, but all she can come up with is, "Sorry."

Blue eyes narrow. "What for?"

Santana's brow furrow in confusion. "For our fight," she explains.

If it weren't for the cold reception she got when she came here, she'd think she'd imagined their fight.

"Yeah," Brittany nods in a _duh _kind of way. "And what did you do?"

Santana resists the urge to roll her eyes because Brittany knows what she did. "Look, Britt, I said I'm sorry," she sighs. "So can we just skip to the bit where we kiss and make up?"

It must be the wrong thing to say because Brittany's face, if possible, hardens even further and she straightens up, dropping her arms from her body and reaching for the door.

"Wrong answer," she says, shaking her head and slams the door without another word.

/

Santana doesn't get any sleep that night.

She lies in bed, staring up at the ceiling and trying not to think about how the space next to her shouldn't be empty.

Her mind races with thoughts of Brittany, and honestly, as she lies there, she can't think of a reason why they're actually fighting.

Okay, maybe she does. Maybe she knows it's a mixture of things like Sam, Quinn, opening herself up and telling Brittany everything, but half of those never mattered before they went to Chicago. It never mattered and as Santana thinks about it, she realizes that what Sam and Quinn think doesn't really matter either. She trusts Brittany, and she loves her. She doesn't want to scare her or hold her back, but at the end of the day she can't tell Brittany what to do. She can't tell her that there's better choices because then it just makes her as bad as Sam and Quinn.

There's a lot about Santana that Brittany doesn't know, and the only reason she never wanted to tell her was because she didn't want Brittany to stop loving her because of those things.

But she's not that person anymore. Her past doesn't make her who she is today and at the end of the day, she doesn't want to lose Brittany.

So if that means that she has to tear down her walls and finally let someone in _completely _to make sure Brittany stays in her life, then so be it.

/

In the morning she wakes, fully prepared to apologize. She knows what she needs to say, what she needs to do and she can only hope that Brittany forgives her.

She showers, dresses, has a slice of toast for breakfast and then heads out, shrugging her coat on and heading over to Brittany's, battling the wind and sleet coming down against her.

Just like yesterday, she stands outside Brittany's front door, tapping her foot with nerves and staring at the wood in front of her but finally gathers the courage to rap on the door, then drops her hands and shoves them in her pockets, her eyes drifting down to focus on her now snow covered boots. The seconds tick by and she glances up after counting a whole minute, wondering why her girlfriend hasn't answered the door yet; so she knocks again, figuring that Brittany has headphones in or is dancing to the radio and can't hear the knocking.

Though two minutes after that, there's still no movement from inside. She steps back to look at the number of the door—yep, this is Brittany's house—and then knocks one more time, perking her ear up and pressing it to the wood of the door to see if she can hear any music coming from inside; but there's nothing and somewhere deep inside of her, she registers that something's very wrong.

But she doesn't want to start thinking ahead and takes a deep breath, telling herself to calm down before she gets riled up. So she steps out of the stoop and back into the snow, peering up at the two windows on the second level but only finds the curtain's are shut. It's ten o'clock and Brittany never sleeps past that time, but thinking that today might be a change, Santana reaches into her pocket and grabs her phone, dialing the number she knows by heart and bringing the phone to hear ear.

It just goes to voicemail.

She glances down curiously at her phone when she lowers it, but it's not going to give her an answer, nor will it explain the lack of Brittany and so she drops it back into her pocket and looks back at the stoop again, her eyes now finding today's newspaper on the front porch. Brittany always picks that up. Shaking it off, she heads around the side of the house, coming to the back door and reaching for the handle, twisting it to see if it's open but it's not, and that little thing deep down begins growing, rising in her throat and speeding up her pulse.

But she forces it back, knowing that Brittany might just be out, and she figures that her neighbor, Emma Pillsbury, might have seen if she went out this morning. With that thought, she heads on over there, eying the freakishly clean stoop, completely void of any snow or dirt, and rings the doorbell.

The door opens and the doe eyed redhead stares at her quizzically.

"Santana?" She says.

Santana offers a light tipped smile, rubbing the back of her neck as she looks back to Brittany's house quickly. "Hey," she mutters. "I, um—I was wondering if you'd seen Brittany?"

Emma blinks, her eyes drifting off with thought but then she shakes her head. "Afraid not, Santana," she chirps. "I haven't seen her since yesterday evening. After you left."

Trying not to wince as the memories of yesterday rush back to her, Santana nods. "Oh, right," she says, disappointment in her tone. "Well, thanks anyway."

She turns away, pulling her shoulders up by her ears again as she heads down the steps, but then Emma calls her name and she peers back over her shoulder.

"Yeah?"

"After you left..." The small redhead begins, stepping out slight and worrying her fingers in front of her. Her eyes dart around nervously, tongue poking out to wet her lips and she pauses, taking in a deep breath before finally meeting Santana's gaze. "I saw Brittany... she got into a taxi."

Santana's brows knit together, eyes narrowing. "A taxi?" She echoes, shaking her head to show she's not understanding. "Where'd she go?"

Emma swallows and looks nothing but apologetic as she whispers, "She had bags."

"Bags?" Santana repeats, lowly, stepping up to be level with Emma. "What do you mean?"

"I mean..." Emma pauses, clearly finding the right words to say, but then she steps forward after a few seconds, setting her palm on Santana's shoulder comfortingly.

"She left, Santana."

It punches Santana so hard in the gut that she chokes, mouth dropping open and eyes widening as fear grips her chest. She stares at the other woman intently, waiting for the punchline or the bit where Emma tells her it's a lie, but instead there's nothing and suddenly Santana's faced with the reality that Brittany left. Brittany actually _left. _Gone without a word and Santana stumbles back, clutching at the front of her jacket as she backs away down the stoop and stands in the snow, her head swimming with the thought that the girl she loved, that _Brittany, _has just gone.

And she has no idea where she is.

She runs to Puck's bar as fast as she can.

/

Her head's pounding. Her heart's racing.

She feels like she's about to explode.

Brittany can't have gone. She can't have _left._

Is this just a test? To see what Santana would do? Is this a test to their love?

Fuck. She just needs to find her.

/

"Puck," Santana pants, swinging open the door with brute force and hearing it crash against the wall as she rushes behind the bar, grabbing her friend's arm and tugging hard until he faces her.

Puck looks down, his eyes soft in a way she hates and she instantly feels anger for the guy she thought was her friend. He knows Brittany's left. _Fuck. _

"Santana," he says, voice low and full of warning.

Santana shows no sign of calming down, the desperate need to find Brittany pulsing through her veins. She lurches forward, hands gripping the collar of Puck's shirt and she pulls him down, comical steam blowing from her ears as she looks at him with sheer fury.

"Where is she?" She asks, foaming from the mouth but Puck says nothing and she uses more force, digging her knuckles into his collarbones in a way she knows hurts. "I said, where _is _she, Puckerman?"

Puck shakes his head though, excusing the woman he's talking to over the bar and grabs Santana's hands, pulling them off his shirt before grasping her shoulder, urging her out the back door. She stumbles out into the alley, falling against the wall opposite and hangs her head down, breathing hard and heavy.

"She's gone, Lopez," Puck informs from behind, his voice hard. "She left last night."

Santana's eyes squeeze shut and her knuckles curl against the brick. This can't be happening. Brittany _didn't _leave.

"You're lying," she accuses, gulping audibly. "She didn't leave," she repeats, grudgingly turning around to glare at her friend. She shakes her head. "You're lying."

Puck looks at her for a long moment, his eyes softening and apologetic in the same way Emma's were earlier. He slowly moves his head from left to right, sucking his lips into his mouth and glancing away. "No, I'm not," he finally says, meeting her eye. "She's gone."

Yet Santana chooses not to believe it. She won't until she sees it for herself.

With that, she sprints off down the alley.

/

She cups her hand over her eyes, peering in through the frosted glass of Brittany's windows.

The house is deserted; all items cleared apart from the furniture.

None of the personal items like the magazines Brittany always reads, or her DVD's, are anywhere to be seen. There aren't white sheets thrown over the sofa, but there might as well be and it rips the breath straight from Santana's chest as she rounds the house, peeking inside each window to look in the different rooms.

But they're all the same. All deserted.

Brittany's bags have been packed...

…

...

She's gone.

/

She still has the key to Brittany's house, and for some reason she thinks it's clever to use it and break in.

(Even if it's not really breaking in.)

Her search is frantic, and she doesn't really know what she's looking for until she finds it: a small black book, buried in the corner of Brittany's bedside table. She opens it up, sitting on the side of Brittany's bed that only a week ago, she was sleeping soundly in, Brittany in her arms, and flips over the pages until she comes across a name and a ten digit number, written in Brittany's childish writing, on the inside of the back cover.

It makes something click within her mind and she digs her phone out, eyes flicking between the screen and the book to make sure she's got the number write before she brings the phone to her ear.

After a few rings, someone picks up.

"_Hello?"_

"Is this Quinn?"

Down the line comes a hum of acknowledgment. _"It is. Who's this?"_

"Santana," she breathes out, closing the book in her hand and throwing it back inside the draw. Her heart pounds against her chest and she can tell by the lack of react that Quinn was expecting the call. It makes something deep within her twist and curl. "Is... is she with you?" She breathes, resting her elbows on her thighs, eyes focused on the carpet. "Is she there?"

There's a long silence and Santana feels heat prick at her eyelids, the need to cry almost growing too much. She just needs to know where Brittany is. She needs to find her and bring her back.

"_Not yet," _Quinn finally says and there's a hardness in her tone. _"But she will be soon."_

A slight wave of relief crashes through Santana, knowing Brittany's safe and won't be alone, but at the same time she chokes, knowing that Brittany's heading back to Chicago. Back _home._

How stupid was Santana for thinking Brittany would stay with her? Brittany doesn't belong here. She's better than that.

"Why did she leave?" She forces out through a thickened throat, dropping her head into her hand as a tear slowly seeps out from the corner of her eye. Fuck.

"_Do you really have to ask that?"_

A tear-drop falls on to the carpet, creating a darkened patch and Santana sucks in a deep, quivering breath. No. She doesn't need to ask. She fucked up.

"I love her," she chokes out instead, the pain slicing through her and settling as a heavy pressure on her chest.

"_And for some reason she loves you," _Quinn replies, her voice swift and sharp. _"So even though I don't approve of you two, you need to sort out your head, Lopez._" Santana lifts her head, shock running through her system. Is this a pep talk? One to get her and Brittany back together? By _Quinn? _One of the damn reasons she and Brittany are fighting, or broken up, or apart, or whatever the hell they are?_ "You need to sort it out and decide what to do because Brittany won't wait forever."_

It's so surprising but Santana just wipes away the tears on her cheeks, sniffing as she picks herself up and walks toward the window, staring out at it.

"I know," she whispers, but still has no idea what she's supposed to do. "Thanks."

"_Don't mention it," _Quinn says but it doesn't sound cheery. _"And I mean don't mention it. I wasn't supposed to tell you where she's going."_

A sudden surge of affection and gratitude pulses through Santana. Maybe she and Quinn could've been friends. If she weren't a total fuck up and Quinn weren't a total bitch. "Okay," she nods. "I won't."

"_Good."_

Santana pulls the phone away from her ear, ready to hang up but hears Quinn's, _"Oh, and Lopez?"_ come from the speaker and listens once more.

"Yeah?"

"_Don't take too long," _Quinn warns. _"She won't wait forever."_

Santana just nods again. She knows that.

She's just got to figure out how to get Brittany back.

/

If she thinks about it, she only has herself to blame.

She should've seen it coming, really, because someone as perfect as Brittany doesn't belong with Santana. No matter how much Santana needed her.

The truth is... Santana needed someone to save her. She needed someone to rescue her because she was lost. She had no idea who she was, and now she realizes she's no-one if she doesn't have Brittany. Back when she could call Brittany 'mine,' she wasn't completely found but she was routed. She was locked down on a path that lead her to being someone she knew and she didn't know a lot, granted, but she knew she had a heart that was beating. A heart that was beating for Brittany and she knew that if everything else went to crap, she had Brittany.

Because as she looks back on it know, she knows Brittany saved her. Brittany saved her from herself, when she thought she didn't need saving and she thinks that's one of the reason she fell in love with the girl. She was always doing the unexpected, and always knew what Santana wanted when Santana didn't even know herself.

But now she's here. Alone. Once again.

Naturally.

/

"So she went back to Chicago, huh?"

Puck runs a cloth around the inside of the glass in hand as he eyes Santana. She's been sitting in the bar for four hours now and staring at the same glass of scotch for three hours and fifty-nine minutes of that.

"Guess so," she croaks out, finally grasping the glass and bringing it to her lips, her nostrils flaring as she inhales the sharp fumes wafting from the liquor. She takes a sip, wincing as it slides down her throat and settles in her stomach; but she doesn't enjoy it. So she puts it down once more, using the tips of her fingers to push it away from her. By drinking she thought she could get back at Brittany for leaving, a pathetic way of spiting her, she guesses, but she can't fight the stronger feeling that if Brittany were to come back, she'd hate seeing Santana drunk or drinking.

God. She's so pathetic. Loyal to someone who walked out on her.

"She didn't even leave a note?"

The reminder slices through Santana, quick like pain. She drops her forehead to the bar, pressing it down and muffling out a strained, "No."

"So are you guys broken up?"

Anger sizzles beneath her skin, trying to cover the anguish she feels at the question. "I don't fucking know," she grits out, lifting her head to glare at her friend. "If I could get a hold of her, I'd ask."

She drops her head again, feeling nothing but pain and sympathy for herself and already fucking hates him. Puck otherwise stays quiet, and soon enough the silence proves too much and she has to glance up, but only finds him staring at her with the emotions she feels. More than anything she hates that look: the sympathetic one, but she guesses it'd probably be soothing to any normal person and so says nothing more about it, just slouches against the bar, propping her elbows on the top and hanging her head between them, fingers gripping the back of her head.

"She was never going to hurt you, you know."

She barely tilts her head, peering up through lashes with a squint. "What?"

Puck sets down the glass in hand, the rag in his other and leans toward her. "She loves you," she says simply and the words wind around Santana's heart, squeezing. "Nothing was going to change that," he breathes. "Not even your past. That girl was in it for good, Santana. Through thick and thin."

It's strange because she never told him why Brittany left. He might have his own conclusions, or thought up reasons, but he doesn't _actually _know. She never opened up and told him. She keeps things like that to herself. She bottles them up and tucks them away because she doesn't open up to anyone. Never has. That might have been the problem with... well, with _her._

"What are you talking abo—"

"You didn't open up," Puck states, his eyes knowing. "Did you?"

Santana pulls back, staring at him. How does he know that? "How did you—"

"There's a reason why you don't have any _best _friends, and just have friends, Lopez."

"You're my best friend."

Puck lets out a short mirthless laugh, one side of his lips pulling up. "That's sweet, Lopez, but it's not true." He shrugs and stands. "I don't know really know anything about you. But I'm an asshole and don't really care much about that," he tells her. "We know each other as much as we tell each other, and that works for us. But that's because we're friends, and not in a relationship. It's different."

She cocks her head to the side, her eyebrows scrunching together. "What do you mean?"

"You're like a map that can't be read, Santana," he says, his tone serious in a way she's not privy to. "And you've let the only person who was willing to stick around and figure you out, walk straight out your life." He looks at her, clenching his jaw because she just shares a blank expression. "You've let the only person who'd _never _use your past against you, just disappear. Without a single word. All because you couldn't tell her a little something about you, even though you knew that she was going to love you no matter what." She opens her mouth to protest, but he cuts in quickly, shaking his head. "And don't tell me you didn't know that, because you did." Her mouth closes, head dropping a little and he leans forward again, forearms pressing into the bar as he gets closer. "You're a fucking idiot, Lopez, and that's coming from another fucking idiot, too."

He straightens up, lifting his chin a little and raises a brow down at her, knowing he's right; and it takes a little while but then realization sinks in and Santana's back is as straight as a pole, eyes wide. Because fuck, there must be pig's flying around because Puck's actually right for once. Brittany was always going to love her because she already did. Not knowing anything about her and loving her did seem stupid because how can you love someone if they don't know anything about you? But now, looking back on her, she realizes that Brittany loves her in spite of all those things she doesn't know. Brittany's not stupid, she knew that Santana's past had some deep, dark secrets in it, yet she still loved her, and still assured her that no matter what it was, or when Santana chose to show herself, Brittany would continue loving her.

Because Brittany didn't care about Santana's past. She didn't care because she knew it wasn't the person Santana is today. It wouldn't have mattered how broken and dark Santana's past it because Brittany was going to love her anyway. Through thick and thin, just like Puck said.

And fuck, Santana just let her go. Just like that.

"What do I do?" She whispers, mostly to herself but Puck looks down at her, his lips pressed together and eyebrows lifted.

"What do you _want _to do?"

Santana's eyes search the top of the bar, like the answer's going to be scratched into the wood. "I want her back," she breathes.

Puck stretches across the bar, setting an arm on her shoulder, urging her eyes to his. "Then fucking do something about it."

/

She doesn't do anything about it.

She thinks and thinks and thinks, and the only conclusion she can come up with is that if Brittany did want to leave, she wouldn't have. And honestly, a little part of her is really fucking pissed off because of that. Why did Brittany save her, and make her happy if she was just going to leave? For that matter, how could Brittany leave after _one little fight? _Couples fight all the time and yet this one time, Brittany fucks off back to Chicago. Probably to Quinn and Sam to talk about their perfect little fucking lives.

Hell, maybe she went back to Sam because Santana would bet her bottom dollar that he'd be okay with comforting Brittany.

Fucking _asshole._

(She shudders at the thought.)

Still, she can't help but feel bitter and angry that Brittany just left her here, without a word after _one stupid fight. _Maybe they weren't as perfect as she first thought.

Puck continues to ask what she's going to do, butchering her on like it'll make her do something, but she always has the same response, which always ends up with Puck rolling his eyes.

"_She's better off without me. She doesn't belong here."_

"_Neither do you."_

_Santana looked up at him, scoffing. "You know people don't get out of here once they're sucked in," she said, lifting her scotch glass._

_Puck set a hand over her own, preventing the sip. "Brittany did."_

_Santana kept drinking. Puck just rolled his eyes._

Though as the weeks drag on—four to be exact—Santana finds herself working as many hours at the bar as she can to keep herself distracted. The bitter and angered thoughts only last so long, and it seems she's moving at rapid progression down the five stages of grief because now she's at that hysteric, not-being-able-to-sleep-and-wants-to-cry-all-the-time stage. The one where she feels empty and it's causing anguish in pain at a depth that she's never known before.

She's at that stage where it feels like she could be sad forever. Where she withdraws from everything—if it's possible to do so even more—and is just left in this... _fog _of intense sadness. Of missing Brittany and wanting her back.

But she just can't locate that switch to her fog lights that helps her find her path again. She just can't get back on track and it's _killing _her.

Which could explain why she's on her knees, scrubbing at the floor where some douche spilled beer with tears in her eyes. And it could explain why she's been scrubbing at the same spot for over twenty minutes, and why the spot's actually clean and now she's just taking off the varnish.

Though it seems Puck notices because he dumps his rag behind the bar, steps out and crouches down beside her so only she hears when he says, "I think you should go home."

"I'm fine," she chokes out, an instant reaction to someone caring about her. Even if her throat is thick and eyes prickling with heat from the tears she's desperately keeping back, she won't say she's sad. She won't be weak. That's the one thing about having someone you love walk out of your life; you notice how empty it was before they came along.

"Santana," Puck says, his tone full of warning and sympathy. "Just _go. _You're a mess."

All the anger's drained from her, so she can't even bring herself to snap at him. Instead, choosing to drop the scrubbing brush and hang her head, blink and letting a tear fall free. She's exhausted, and not just emotionally, but physically.

For the past week she hasn't got a wink of sleep. She's not even sure how she's awake right now. Probably a mix of Red Bull and coffee, which she acknowledges isn't healthy, but it's the best she can do right now. But when she lies in bed, she's just reminded that she's alone and can somehow still smell Brittany on the pillow which is just a punch to the heart. She can still run her hand across the right side of the bed—_Brittany's_ side of the bed—and feel the indent of where Brittany would curl up on her side and grasp on to Santana like her life depended on it and it hurts. It really fucking hurts because she doesn't have any of that anymore.

She just can't sleep unless Brittany's by her side.

So she just ends up lying there with these constant reminders that she isn't happy, that she doesn't have the love of her life lying next to her and ends up not sleeping because of it.

"I _can't_," she finally chokes out, the tears now trailing down her cheek. "I can't if she's not there," she manages to get out, sniffing and wiping her cheeks on the sleeve of her hoodie. "So just let me get on with this."

Puck doesn't leave her alone though, just sets a hand on her shoulder and shoots her an understanding look.

"You can stay at mine," he offers.

Santana almost smiles for the first time in four weeks.

/

By the fifth week, Santana's switching between the stages, going from a day of lying in bed, moping over the memory of the love of her life walking out of her, to a day of swearing at everyone and losing a large amount of tips because she swears or threatens to pummel a guy's ass when she catches him checking her out.

For this particular evening though, she seems to be stuck somewhere in-between. She hasn't bitten anyone's head off, but she's not crying her eyes out. She's just sort of... lifeless.

She's in the bar, sitting at a stool that must have her ass imprinted on it by now, fingering her second glass of scotch and ignoring pretty much everything around her. People have been coming and going, as usual, but she's paid absolutely zero attention to any of them. Instead, she's just sitting there, the minutes ticking by as she watches the level of her scotch shrink with each sip she takes.

The doors to the bar swings open, and because she stopped looking after the seventeenth time—she found there was no point because it wasn't like Brittany was going to come sweeping in like she had the first time Santana ever lay eyes on the girl—she doesn't realize just _who _walks through the door.

So she just downs the rest of her scotch, enjoying the slight warmth it brings to her stomach and the low buzzing it sets in her ears, and slides her empty glass over to Puck who gives her the look she thought she'd never get again. That half-concerned and half-disappointed one that her parents used to give her. That Brittany used to give her.

Damn, it sucks.

"You having another one?"

She wants to say yes, but she already feels like shit and getting drunk with only make her worse. Apparently now she's an emotional drunk. "No," she sighs, looking up at him. "I'm just gonna head upstairs. You got anything good to watch on your DVR?"

"Recorded a few horror movies," Puck shrugs, looking slightly less disappointed than he did a minute ago. Probably because she said no to alcohol.

"Perfect," she manages a weak smile. "As long as it's not some crappy romance film, it'll do."

Puck looks at her but nods, checking no-one needs serving before heading out the back door with his cell phone and cigarettes. Santana just sits there for a moment, blowing out her cheeks and running her fingers through her hair before she decides to get up...

...To find two guys standing behind her, glaring with hard expressions.

She tilts her head to the side in slight recognition, but can't quite place them anywhere. One's a beefy guy with a heavy five o'clock shadow, and the others got one hell of a strong jaw line.

"Yeah?" She asks, lifting both eyebrows as if to say _can I help?_

The guy with the strong jaw line steps forward, jabbing a finger into her chest. "You owe me a grand," he murmurs.

And fuck. Santana's heard this before. Now she knows _exactly _who it is: that Jesse guy.

With a sigh, she meets his eye. "Look, we fought fair and square. You lost and I won."

Jesse's upper lip curls in aggression. "Did not," he growls. "Now give me my money."

"I don't fight anymore," Santana says, declining the offer. She did win that fight fair and square, and she's not going to give that money back just because he's a sore loser. No way in hell.

"You were for your pretty little girlfriend," Jesse spits, stepping closer. His eyes flicker around the bar, a smirk tugging at his lips. "Where is she anyway?"

Pain slices through Santana and she lowers her head, jaw clenching. Her entire body tenses but she tells herself not to give in. Wishes that Puck were here, too. Dammit.

"Just go away," she finally says, meeting Jesse's gaze. Her voice is soft and she hopes he'll just leave her alone. "I'm not gonna fight you."

Jesse narrows his eyes, forehead scrunching for a split second before his entire face breaks in realization. His lips curve even further, a full on smirk pulling at them and he lifts his head, laughing mirthlessly through his nose. He looks... evil. "Your girl left you," he announces and Santana blinks back the sudden heat at her eyes. "She realized you were just a piece of shit, right?"

Knowing words will only encourage this guy on, Santana stays silent, desperately trying to push the pain away. Jesse can't hurt her. Not with these words. He knows nothing.

"Did she finally open her eyes?" He continues and Santana looks down, the beginnings of hot, white anger curdling within her. "Did she finally realize that there were better people in the world to share her time with?"

She stays silent. She knows this guy doesn't' have a fucking clue what the hell he's talking about but it just reminds her of all the reasons why Brittany _did_ leave. Because there _are_ better people in the world. Better people than Santana, and better cities than fucking Grantsville, and even though she knows she shouldn't react, it still punches her in the stomach, the words still settle in her gut and her body's natural reaction to anyone taunting her is to lash out, so she curls her fists against her jeans.

And then Jesse pushes her over the edge by leaning down, close to her ear and whispers, "Maybe if you point me in the right direction, I can show the good time she deserves," and she lashes out, shoving him in the chest hard and feeling her entire body sizzle with the need to punch something. Jesse preferably.

Santana feels the anger get too much, red flashing before her eyes as she rips her shirt off, leaving her in a sports bra and jeans, ready to fight. But when Jesse raises his fists, a smirk pulling at his lips as he crouches slightly into a stance, she realizes that her fighting him is _exactly _what he wants, and the memories of Jesse provoking her when Brittany was around flash back and she thinks about how... _disappointed _Brittany would be if she could see Santana like this.

And just like that, her fists uncurl and all the will to fight drains out of her.

"I'm not going to fight you," she sighs, her shoulders sagging forward as a wave of irritation hits her. She'd like to kick the crap out of this guy, but she just _can't. _She doesn't have the energy to.

But Jesse's not having any of it and snarls at her, lurching forward to grab her hair and yank her towards the cage. She yelps, feeling several strands of hair being tugged from her scalp but just goes with it, not giving into the satisfaction of fighting back. Maybe if she does that, Jesse will stop. Maybe he'll have the decency not to beat up someone who's not willing to fight back. Though as she's thrown into the cage, her face mashing against the metal wires of the walls and pain stinging through her face, she thinks that might not happen.

"Yo, St. James," a voice calls and Santana peers over her shoulder, eyes sliding to the right to find that beefy guy standing there, looking at Jesse. "Tag me in when you think you've got your money's worth." His eyes dart to Santana and he cracks his knuckles, smirking. "I need to get mine."

It's that smirk that refreshes a memory from her brain and she realizes, shit, she fought that guy, too. It's Karofsky.

"Will do," Jesse replies and shrugs out his jacket, cracking his neck from side to side as he jumps into the air, waving out his limbs.

And Santana? She just waits for it, closing her eyes as he stalks toward her and throws his fist into her gut, sucking the breath straight from her lungs.

/

It's only a few minutes later and she's black, blue, bleeding and bruised.

Her entire body aches, her head pounding and eyes dizzying, but Jesse doesn't stop. His fists, his feet, his knees and his head keep coming at her, striking her again and again, causing her to choke and spit out blood on to the floor of the cage until she can't take anymore. Even then, Jesse continues and before she knows it, she's on the floor, her eyes screaming at her to close as her quivering hands push against the floor, fingers smudging the red liquid seeping from various parts in her body, and try to get her up.

Jesse's there though, kicking her elbow and sending her falling back to the floor with a thump. Her forehead smacks against the ground and she winces, but it's nothing in comparison to the intense pain pretty much _everywhere _else in her body and so she doesn't even choke. She turns over on to her back (with incredible pain), stares up into the bright lights that burn down on her and wishes that something would just get rid of this right now. That something or someone would come along and stop this, but she knows it won't and there's no way in hell she's going to try and defend herself. The only way she could would be if she used violence, if she fought back and she can't do that.

She's not that person anymore and Brittany won't come back if she is.

(That's what she's telling herself anyway.)

(Even as she gets the shit kicked out of her.)

A follow-up strike doesn't come within the next few seconds, and she manages to blink back into focus and wipe away the tears from the corners of her eyes enough to make out the shapes of Jesse leaving the cage, wiping his hands on something white in his hands and someone else entering. Someone bigger, beefier, _stronger._

If Santana thought she was in shit already, then she was horribly mistaken. Jesse isn't half the size Karofsky is, and now she's in Karofsky's hands.

Just as expected, the strikes come and they're twice as bad. The punches are heavier, the kicks not as fast but sure as hell harder and Karofsky even picks her up and throws her into the cage walls before she slumps down onto the floor with a large thud, the air ripping straight from her lungs as she chokes out a mouthful of blood. She can't even process any thoughts apart from the alert going off in her head that maybe she's going to die, but she still tries to crawl away to see if Karofsky has any sympathy for her. But the kick she gets in the lungs says that no, he doesn't.

And after being picked up by the throat, and held as Karofsky punches her everywhere—in the gut, in the face, in the chest, _everywhere_—she realizes that it's true; she's going to die in this ring. There's no words to describe the pain she's in. The ache is everywhere, the sharp, hot sting of torture thrumming through her body, and she can't even open her eyes or ask Karofsky to stop because she's just not able to; the anguish is just too much.

So when Karofsky drops her to the floor, crouches over her body and whispers, "Game over," as he brings his fist back, she closes her eyes and thinks about all the good times she's had in her life: when her mom and dad took her to Disneyland for her ninth birthday, when her brother took her up the Empire State Building for the first time, when she first realized she had feelings for Brittany and when she first realized she wanted to spend the rest of her life with her, too.

She thinks about all of that, inwardly letting herself feel the last few moments of happiness she has stored up within before she says her goodbyes in her mind and uses her last breath to whisper the one thing she's ever truly known.

"I love you, Britt," she mutters to herself and lets a small, sad smile tug at her lips as she waits for the final blow.

But it never comes.

/

"_Mommy? Daddy? Where are we going?"_

_They'd been traveling on the road for hours, and Santana had been sitting impatiently in the back seat, beside her brother, wondering why they weren't getting cake because it was her birthday._

_Her mother turned in her seat. "We're nearly there honey," she cooed, her brown eyes soft. "Just wait."_

_Santana sat back, huffing loudly and crossed her arms. Even at nine, she was difficult. But twenty minutes later, her entire demeanor changed as her dad pulled the car into a long drive, leading to a car park and the best vision she'd ever seen before her young eyes. Because that really long drive was totally worth that moment because she may not have any cake, but she was at Disneyland._

_A place where the magic never ends._

_It was the best birthday she ever had._

/

_She was fourteen when her parents died._

_It wasn't anything hugely dramatic, just an asshole running a red light and crashing into the side of her parents car, killing both of them instantly._

_But it still hit her and her brother hard, and on the first anniversary of their death, Rafael, her brother who was four years older than her, told her to put on her jacket because they were going out. She followed, keeping her head down as they walked down alleys because she was so used to him dragging her out to shady looking places to talk to strange men, but then they got on a train and four stops later, were getting off and heading up to street level._

_She had no idea where she was going and she didn't bother asking her brother because he was always a little secretive about... well, everything. He'd lash out and she didn't want him to. She'd seen him lash out at other guys, at people who owed him money for something she didn't want to ask about, and she just wasn't down with that. Most of the time those guys would end up with a broken nose, or lying unconscious in a dark, dirty alley so yeah, speaks for itself._

_So she just kept following him, her shoulders by her ears, hands dug deep in her pockets and her wits about her. She didn't know what was coming._

_Though minutes later, they arrived outside a building and Rafael stopped, eying her carefully._

"_We're here."_

_Santana narrowed her eyes, peering at the windows of the building they were next to. "The Empire State Building? Why we were?"_

_Rafael just stayed silent, the cold look no longer in his eyes and for the first time in a year, Santana saw him smile as he clapped her on the back and led her in. They headed up to the viewing area and stopped by the side, looking out upon the city, the view completely breathtaking as the nights of New York City glowed in the dark of the night._

"_This is where Pa proposed to Ma," Rafael told her and she choked up, tears pooling in her eyes. "I just thought..." _

_He stopped and Santana looked at him, no longer seeing the man who threatened people with knives in front of her. She no longer saw the one who was cold, who had scars from many bar fights and who almost constantly had a dead look in his eyes, but instead saw her _brother. _The one who used the rest of his allowance, that he was going to spend on a toy for himself, to buy her ice cream the first time she was pushed over in elementary school. She saw the one who came into her room and hugged her to sleep the first night she ever heard her parents fight. And she saw the one who became her best friend and played video games with her all night when she first came out because none of her friends wanted to be near a 'dirty lesbian dyke.'_

_She saw him, and began crying as she wrapped her arms around him, burying her nose into his coat and ignoring the stench of stale smoke and old beer._

_And he just wrapped his arm around her, holding her close and dropping a kiss to the crown of her head._

"_Thank you," she whispered._

_Rafael squeezed her tighter and for the next hour, they just watched over the city, their parents in mind._

/

_It was the day of the burnt brownie fiasco, and they'd both fallen asleep after hours of watching Sweet Valley High._

_Santana woke, startled, her eyes finding the room completely dark as the groggy feeling tugged at her brain. She rubbed her face, looking toward the TV to find the DVD menu playing over and over and tried to reach for the remote when she became hyper aware that she couldn't move anything below her chest. And she looked down, finding a sleeping Brittany, curled up between her legs, clasped hands tucked beneath her chin and head resting on Santana's chest and really, it was the most adorable thing Santana had ever seen._

_So completely forgetting about switching off the DVD, she reached down and traced her fingers over Brittany's forehead, pushing back a lock of hair fallen down and tucking it behind her ear. Her touch was soft, gentle, but it stirred Brittany and she slowly awoke, blue eyes blinking sleepily up at her and causing a smile to pull at her lips. Though suddenly, she realized she'd just been touching this girl without her permission, and in her sleep, and embarrassment rushed through her, a blush creeping up on her face._

_In that moment, she couldn't have been more pleased that she was of an ethnic complexion. They didn't show a blush._

"_Sorry," she blurted out, completely embarrassed that she was caught._

_Brittany just stared up at her, brows pulling together in confusion and Santana was met with a wave of rejection as the blonde girl climbed off her lap and off the sofa, but it was swiftly replaced with surprise as a pale hand grabbed her own, tugging her up. She went with it, following Brittany through her house until they were trudging up the stairs and along the landing to her bedroom, and then she became the one thoroughly confused._

_The blonde girl didn't seem to notice though and led Santana to the bed, pushing her down on it and taking her shoes and socks off before removing her own and climbing on to the bed to join her. Legs straddled her waist and brown eyes grew wide, but then Brittany collapsed down on to the bed, one leg still hooked over Santana's waist as she snuggled in next to her, hands clutching at Santana's bicep._

_Santana just stayed still, ignoring the way her heart was thumping loudly in her chest as Brittany nuzzled into her neck, lips brushing over the skin because she'd never _cuddled _with someone before. She'd had sex, fucked, done a plethora of things... Yet cuddling was never one of them._

_But instead of fighting it, she let herself feel how amazing it was to have Brittany here, clutching at her and draped haphazardly over her, breathing warmth against her neck as she fell back to sleep, and Santana couldn't fight that she was slowly realizing something._

_She was falling for Brittany._

_And she could sure as hell get used to this cuddling thing._

/

_She was leaning against the bar, no surprise there, just gazing at Brittany playing pool with Puck in the corner. _

_She was leaning on to her pool cue, laughing as Puck took a shot and missed one of his striped balls, hitting the white ball and pocketing it. Puck scowled, growled and otherwise looked thorough pissed off, but Brittany was just giggling her ass off, her face scrunched up in the most adorable way. _

_Sensing the stare, Brittany turned her gaze and the corners of Santana's lips curved up as blue eyes locked with brown. The blonde's face broke out into a grin and Santana couldn't fight the overwhelming rush of happiness that thrummed through her._

_She was so in love._

"_Is that your girl?"_

_After jumping a little, Santana turned her head to find the young, blonde bartender leaning over the bar, eying Puck and Brittany by the pool table. Santana looked at him for a moment, then back at Brittany now leaning over the pool table, tongue stuck out and utter concentration etched in to her features in the cutest fucking way, and Santana couldn't help allow her face to stretch into an idiot grin because in that moment, she knew that Brittany was all she was ever going to want in life. She was perfect. She was beautiful, she was innocent, she was everything good in this miserable, stinking world and somehow Santana managed to get _so _lucky that Brittany chose _her.

_She never wanted to let her go._

"_Yeah," she sighed, laughing through her nose a little. She didn't understand how she could feel this way about a person. "That's my girl."_

_The blonde bartender smiled and clapped her on the shoulder. "You've got a keeper," he said with a smile before going back to work._

_Santana just looked to Brittany, sticking her tongue out at Puck before throwing a wink Santana's way as she pocketed her second ball, and well, she definitely was a keeper._

_And so as she walked over there, wrapped her arms around Brittany's waist and kissed her neck, humming in content as Brittany leaned back into the touch and laced their fingers together over her abs, Santana promised herself that she'd marry that girl one day._

/

"_What the fuck do you think you're doing?"_

It's a woman, of that Santana's sure, but she can't make out who it is. There's a buzzing in her ears and she can't peel her eyes open because they're already swelling and she's pretty sure her eyebrow's split and the flesh is now just... _hanging _off her face, to see who it is.

"_Getting out money's worth." _It's Jesse, and she can tell he's smirking by his tone.

"_Get out."_

The body crouching over hers disappears, and she breathes out a sigh of relief, wincing at how much that hurts. She's pretty sure she's got at least five broken ribs.

"_Why?"_ Someone draws out and Santana blinks, her hazy vision making out a large bulky shape stalking toward a woman. It's Karofsky._ "What are you gonna do, lady?"_

Puck suddenly comes out from the back, a shotgun wielded in his arm, pointed toward Karofsky._ "Do as she says,"_ he growls.

And Santana wants to prop herself up to see what's going on but she can't. She's about two seconds away from passing out. Though as she groans to herself, rolling on to her side and wrapping an arm around her self to see if it'll reduce the pain, she feels a warmth of a person beside her and lets her eyes fall shut as her nose picks up a certain perfume. This woman isn't just anyone, it's Shelby.

"Santana, honey," Shelby coos and Santana swallows, the metallic tang undeniable. "Can you open your eyes?" She can't do as wanted, but she makes a noise of acknowledgment to show she's still alive. "Okay, honey, just keep breathing for me. We're going to get you out of here."

In the background she can barely make out the sounds of Karofsky, Puck and Jesse talking.

"_You wouldn't shoot us," _Karofsky grunts.

Puck chuckles mirthlessly, rounding the bar and closing the gap between him and the other two men. _"Fucking try me, meat head."_

Curling his knuckles, Karofsky stares at Puck with narrowed eyes and Jesse shifts beside him, his clenched fists quivering by the tops of his thighs.

"_You'll get done for it," _Jesse seethes, challenging the bartender.

But once again, Puck just laughs in his face. _"I protect me family," _he starts, his voice low and angered as he paces in a circle, urging Karofsky and Jesse to the door. _"And I guarantee you everyone in this room would swear you bought this in," _he lifts the shotgun. _"And threatened to kill us all if we didn't hand over our belongings—a robbery, if you will—and after Santana over there tried to stop you, you beat the crap out of her._" His eyes flicker to Santana and he increases the volume of his voice as he says, _"Am I right, guys?"_

The entire room, which consists of like, four customers, all drone a synchronized, _"yes" _and Puck smirks.

"_Exactly," _he says, cocking the gun. _"So fucking leave."_

Karofsky scoffs, clearly more frightened by the threat than Jesse and lets his gaze linger between his friend and the bartender. But then Jesse snarls and shakes his head, and Karofsky takes this moment to wave Puck off before grabbing his friend pulling him out the bar, swiftly leaving. Then Puck sets the shotgun down and rushes to Santana, helping Shelby picking her up. Though the movement is more painful than she thought it would be and yelps out in pain, cowering and burying her head into Puck's shoulder as arms wind around her body, lifting her completely off the ground.

"What happened to you?" Shelby asks as they move somewhere.

Santana just squeezes her eyes shut. She doesn't know what's going on but she can't find it in her to care because everything just hurts too much.

"Where's Brittany?"

The physical pain takes a side step as the words flow through Santana's barely there conscience, and she whimpers, the tears suddenly falling from her eyes for a completely different reason than the possible broken bones and severe beating she just received. But Puck must give Shelby a look, or say something that Santana misses because the older woman never gets an answer, and before Santana knows it, she's being set down on something hard and cold. The bar, she thinks.

"I'll grab the medical kit," Puck says but Shelby quickly cuts in.

"We should be taking her to the hospital, Noah. Not fixing her up with a band-aid."

"She wouldn't want that."

"We don't know the extent of her injuries," Shelby argues and Santana wishes she could just pass out from the pain. Enduring it's proving too much.

Still, she manages to pick up on the conversation and struggles to get out a muffled, "No hospital."

The mere thought of going to hospital and having people prodding and poking her, and then having the cops coming to take a statement since she clearly didn't fall down the damn stairs is just something she doesn't want to do. She doesn't want to deal with that shit.

"See," Puck chimes in. "She's a lot stronger than she looks, so we'll just clean her up and take her upstairs." There's a moment of silence and Santana wishes she could open her eyes to see what's going on. "She's been sleeping at mine."

Santana doesn't know what look Shelby just gave him, but she can guess from the explanation.

"Okay."

Everything from then on is a blur, and Santana lets Shelby clean her up, dab at her wounds and put steri strips over the gashes she assumes she must have in her face. The next thing she knows is someone's picking her up, someone she knows as Puck when she buries her face into his neck and she's being carried up stairs and set down on a mattress. The same mattress she's been sleeping on for the past week.

The last thing she hears before the darkness takes over her, is Shelby whispering, "What have you done to yourself?" as fingers stroke over her forehead.

Santana doesn't even know.

/

The next day she wakes and swears nothing's worse than this feeling.

Yesterday she got beaten to a pulp by two guy's she's previously beaten herself. She didn't even bother defending herself and now her head's pounding, her mind racing and body aching all because she didn't want to fight back.

Two max strength painkillers and a gulp of water later, and she's stumbling down the stairs to the bar, clutching at her side and wondering how the hell she managed to change into sweatpants and a shirt without crying, or like, dying from the pain. She finds Shelby talking to Puck over the bar when she pushes the door open, and stills, not even knowing what she looks like right now—thanks to the lack of mirrors in Puck's apartment. You'd think a guy that vain would at least have _one, _but no—but guessing it's pretty damn bad considering Shelby gasps and covers her mouth and Puck straightens up, his eyes growing wide at the sight of her, both their jaws going slack.

But she can't find it in her to care. Even now, with this intense pain thrumming through her body, she stands by her reason why she didn't fight. She's not that person anymore.

She slides down on to the stool, with much difficulty, and leans against the bar, breathing out heavily to relieve some of the pain. Her hand clutches at her ribs and she ignores the stare and the silence Shelby and Puck are giving her as she tries to get a little more comfortable, which proves to be hard.

Though soon enough, she's settled and she glances up, as much with her left considering it's puffy and swollen, and meets Shelby gaze as the woman reaches over, placing a delicate hand on top of her thigh.

"How are you feeling?" She asks, and her voice is as soft as her touch.

Santana wants to roll her eyes, but she knows how much it'd hurt and resists the urge. "Like I've been hit by a ten ton truck," she retorts and Puck cracks a smile. "Why are you here?"

The bartender suddenly leans over, joining the conversation. "I called her," Puck says and Santana attempts to shoot him a glare. She _doesn't _need looking after.

"Why? I'm fine," she spits, defensively, eying the top rack behind the bar. There's at least seventeen different liquors that could get her from stop feeling this pain; though she acknowledges she'd have to get drunk to do that and she's not game with that. Not that person anymore, remember?

"Your appearance is telling a different story, Santana," Shelby says and shifts, slipping off the stool and closing the gap between her and Santana, manicured hands gently cupping bruised cheeks. "You look awful."

Santana lets out a noise that almost sounds like a scoff. "Thanks," she mutters, staring the closest thing she has to a mother in the eye. "But honestly, I'm fi—"

Just then, the sound of the doors swinging open tear everyone's attention away from the bruises and swelling on her face, and Santana swears she all about dies as she sees the person standing before her. Because it's not just another drunk coming through the door, wanting to get blitzed before midday, nor is it a delivery guy pushing a stack of beer bottles through the doors.

No.

Instead, it's Brittany.

/

It's probably not the best situation to be caught in by Brittany.

Mostly because Santana's sitting on a stool with a woman between her legs, the woman's cupping her cheeks and probably looks like she's staring deeply into her eyes when really she's just letting her disappointed gaze trail over Santana's features, taking in all the bruises and gashes covering Santana's face. But to Brittany, it'd look completely different. Even if it is a woman who might as well be Santana's mother.

But Brittany's never met Shelby and that's why the second the blonde girls gaze flickers between Shelby and Santana, Santana pushes the older woman away from her, ignoring the jolt of pain that surges through her body and slowly (but painfully) slides off her stool, offering her hands out and handling her girlfriend, or ex-girlfriend, like she's a spooked animal that might run away at any sudden.

Fear grips her chest and her head rushes as she slowly inches toward the girl. Shit. This is so _not _what it looks like. "Britt, it's not—"

"Ah, you must be Brittany," Shelby interjects, stepping around Santana and heading toward said girl, offering out an embrace that Brittany takes with a smile.

"And you're Shelby," the blonde girl returns, pulling out the hug and smiling at the older stare at each other with kind, warm smiles.

Santana just stands somewhere in the back, utterly confused by the interaction taking place. She has absolutely _no _idea what's going on right now. They've never even met and Santana's pretty sure that she never even mentioned Shelby to Brittany. She knows Shelby knows who Brittany is, but she's never seen a picture, nor has she talked to her. So how the _fuck _does she know that this is Brittany? And why are they both acting like they know each other!?

(Behind all the confusion, Santana feels the sound of Brittany's voice and Brittany's general presence warm the cockles of her heart.

_Damn, _she's missed that girl.)

"Thank you for coming," Shelby whispers and Santana's head tilts to the side, her breath hitching when blue eyes flicker to her.

"I couldn't not come," Brittany replies, her eyes trained on Santana but words aimed at older woman smiles at the girl and squeezes her biceps before throwing Puck a look.

He jolts, realizing that this is their cue to leave and rounds the bar, bypassing Santana and dropping a kiss to her head carefully, his hand rubbing over her shoulder. Shelby smiles warmly at her, a knowing glint in her eye and then loops her arm through Puck's, swiftly leading them out the bar without another word, leaving Santana and Brittany completely alone for the first time in five weeks, and really, Santana doesn't have a fucking clue what's going on.

"Shelby called me," Brittany says, breaking the silence and answering a question Santana hasn't asked yet.

Santana just nods, but that still doesn't answer why Brittany's back though. Nor does it answer how Shelby got in touch with her. Actually, Brittany's words bring up more questions than it answers.

"How?" She asks, meeting Brittany's eye and watching the way her brow crinkles, eyes taking in the injuries on Santana's face. "How'd she get in contact with you?"

"Puck called her and asked her to find me," Brittany answers, stepping forward and thumbing the hem of her jacket. Her eyes search Santana's for a long moment and Santana forces herself to look away. She can't get used to looking the girl in the eye if she's only going to leave again. "They were worried about you."

It breaks Santana out of the shock of seeing the blonde and she starts feeling that bitterness and anger bubbling inside of her. "Well, I'm fine," she spits, clutching on to her side as she moves around the bar, suddenly needing to quench an intense thirst with something alcoholic. "I'm not dead, nor am I dying, so feel free to go back to Chicago now."

She waves her hand, flipping the other girl off but Brittany just steps up to the bar, setting her palms face down and tilting her head to the side.

"I don't want to go back," she admits, sheepishly, staring at her finger as it traces invisible circles on the wood of the bar.

Santana whips her head up, ignoring the pain she feels from the movement. "Well you've done it before so why not now?" She blurts out, unable to stop her words even at Brittany's hurt expression. "I'm sure Sam and Quinn are waiting for you so just go." Her hands reach for the bottle of scotch and then she grabs a glass, slamming it on to the counter to relieve some of the anger sizzling beneath her skin. "You don't belong here and you shouldn't have come back," she finished through a hiss, picking up the scotch glass once she's poured a little and taking a large sip, the liquor burning down her throat. "Okay?"

Brittany just tilts her head to the side, her brow furrowing and hurt flashing across her eyes as her shoulders drop. Her eyes dart down to the bar, her body shifting into a position that makes her look so small and Santana hates the way she can tell the girl's about to cry. How is this fair? Brittany fucking leaves and then comes back, fucking _crying _when Santana tells her to go back? What the fuck!?

"Santana," the blonde girl says in that dumb tone that always makes Santana feel like she's being handled. Her eyes flit up to meet dark ones. "Don't say that," she whispers and Santana's about to make a remark about how Brittany can't tell her what she can do anymore because she fucking walked out, _Brittany _fucking walked out, but then Brittany speaks first and it completely shuts her up. "I love you."

"Then why did you leave!?" Santana snaps, slamming her glass on to the counter, eyes wide and breaths heavy. "How can you love me if you can just leave me like that!?"

Brittany shrinks down immediately, her eyes searching everywhere that isn't Santana. For a long moment it's just the sound of their heavy breathing, of Santana's pain and Brittany's regret.

But then the blonde girl continues talking and asks, "Why didn't you fight them back?" as she points to Santana's face, her eyes flitting across the bruised and swollen features. "Why'd you let them do that to you?"

And well, fuck. Leave it up to Brittany to pick up things that no-one else would.

"It's not your business anymore," Santana mutters and tries not to betray her words by a quivering tone. Doesn't work, though.

The blonde girl looks at her, jaw clenched but eyes glossy. "It is my business," she whispers, but Santana just loses it. How can Brittany even say that? _Fuck._

"No, it's not, Brittany! It stopped being your fucking business when you walked out and flew back to Chicago without a single. Fucking. Word!" Santana spits, heat pricking at her eyelids as she bangs her fist against the counter, punctuating her words. Luckily, the adrenaline seeping through her veins prevents her from feeling any physical pain, but she knows later, she'll feel it. "It stopped being your business so now you've seen I'm not dead, now you've seen I got the shit kicked out of me, you can fucking go back," she blurts out and pauses to pant a little, her eyes searching Brittany's as blue eyes just stare at her. "That's the reason you came back, isn't it? To clear your conscience?"

"No," Brittany defends immediately, pulling her head back and squinting in disbelief. "I didn't even know that you were beaten up until I got her, Santana, so don't give me that."

It's sort of stamps on her point, and so Santana lets her shoulder sag and features relax. Shit. Now she's not so much angry as she is hurt.

"Then why?" She breathes, a pressure building on her chest as a tear falls from her eye, trailing down her cheek. "Why did you come back?" She asks, wiping away the tear with the back of her finger before she stares the other girl in the eye.

"Because I'm stupid," Brittany replies like it's going to fix everything.

And because Santana's still madly in love with this girl, no matter how much she's hurting right now, she immediately interjects with, "You're not stupid."

The corners of the blondes lips quirk and she makes her way around the bar, pushing open the door and letting it fall shut as she approaches Santana. Brown eyes stay trained on her the entire way, and Santana knows that her will to block this girl out, to stay mad at her is slowly fading. Brittany may have left, but Santana would still do anything to have her back again. No matter what she might say.

"I am," Brittany says, her eyes shining and apologetic. She inches forward, her hand twitching and Santana recognizes it as a sign for the blonde wanting to hold her hand, but she stops it before it happens and shakes her head, hating the way Brittany's face falls with rejection and hurt and how it gives Santana absolutely no satisfaction whatsoever. "But so are you."

Just like that, the anger's back again. Santana's eyebrow shoot up to her hairline and she scoffs, her ribs protesting at the movement. "Excuse me?" She asks, rhetorically. Did Brittany _really _just say that?

"We're both as dumb as each other."

Brittany says it with such innocence that Santana has to blink, go over the words in her mind at least five times before she answers. "Do you wanna fucking elaborate on that, Britt? Because as I see it, _you're _the one that left."

"And you're the one that made me," the blonde shoots back, stepping closer and not even bothering to check with Santana as she reaches for her hands. "San," she starts, looking deeply into dark eyes. "If you don't want me to leave, then don't push me away."

"What? Because I didn't tell you about my past then that's me pushing you away?" Santana grits out, teeth grinding together. "Because I didn't open up to you?"

"I never needed you to tell me about your past, Santana!" Brittany suddenly yells, lifting her hands into the air and running them through her hair, heavily dropping them back to her side. Santana jerks her head back. It's not? "I never needed to know everything because that's not the person I fell in love with!"

Features dropping, Santana narrows her eyes. "What?"

"Santana, I don't know about your past, but I don't care," Brittany explains, turning her palms up and shrugging like that was so obvious. "I don't care because that's not who you are. Your past doesn't define you and I fell in love with the Santana Lopez that I know you are today."

It's so simple. _So _simple and Santana never really thought about it like that. She thought her past made her who she is, but in fact, it's taught her to be someone else. She moved away from New York because she didn't want to be a bad person. She didn't want to sell drugs and get into heavy shit like her brother did, but she always thought that because bad blood ran in her veins, because her brother was a bad person, that she automatically was too and so she carried that around for years. But Brittany's now completely changing her thoughts. Brittany fell in love with the person that Santana is, with everything Santana left behind and suddenly it all makes sense.

She isn't a bad person. She thought she was because that's all she's ever known, but just because she's had a bad past, doesn't mean that's who she is.

"I fell in love with the Santana Lopez that loves me so much that she let two guys beat the crap out of her all because she thought I'd be disappointed in her," Brittany continues and steps forward, her hands coming up to the collar of Santana's shirt, fingers tracing the edge as their eyes search each other. "Although, that was kind of stupid, San."

Santana manages a weak smile but forces herself to step back because this is all too much. Brittany can't come back after five weeks of nothing and sweet talk her walk back into her life. Nothing's changed. Brittany _still _walked out and that's the bottom line.

"So what, then?" She asks, shaking her head. "You expect me to just forgive you? You turn up out of the blue and that's it? We get back together and forget everything?" Santana asks, lifting a shoulder because no, that's not how things work. "You think I'm just going to forget that you walked out my life for _five _weeks?"

"No, I don't," Brittany answers honestly, shaking her head. "I expect us to try and get through this because that's what couples do when they fight."

"But I don't _want _to fight anymore, Britt! I don't wanna fight with you, or in the cage. I mean _fuck, _I got the shit beaten out of me because I convinced myself if I didn't fight them you'd come back."

"And I did come back," the blonde replies. "I came back because I'm in love with you, Santana."

"So why did you leave in the first place? You were in love with me before and you still left!"

"I left because I–" Brittany drops her head, suddenly going back on her words and suspicion spikes through Santana. "Because I had to."

Santana's not buying it though, so she shakes her head, upper lip curling and eyes narrowing. "You're lying," she accuses. "Just tell me why you went back."

It's said lowly and Brittany must be able to tell that Santana's not going to take anymore shit by her expression and her tone because she wets her lips and takes in a deep breath, meeting dark eyes.

"I went back to tell everyone that I was leaving Chicago."

Dark eyebrows push together, confusion pulsing through Santana's being. "What?"

Brittany steps forward, head tilting. "I never meant to leave," she says and it just confuses Santana more. What the hell was she doing then with packed bags and a freaking plane ticket? "After I left your house, I went home and in the heat of the moment, I started packing my bags." Santana winces, eyes closing but cold hands reach forward, cupping her cheeks and urging her eyes back up. "And as I was doing it, I started crying because everything inside of me was saying that I didn't want to go. That I never wanted to and I knew at some point, I'd have to because what you said was true," she shrugs and Santana looks at her. Like _really _looks at her, trying to see the answer before it's revealed. "My life was back in Chicago, with all my friends and my job, and I knew at some point I was going to have to go back there."

Santana gulps, not entirely sure of where this is going. The only thing she's hanging on to is that she hasn't heard the words _I'm leaving forever _or _I'm breaking up with you for Sam _so she's okay for now.

"So I just left to try and get my head together," Brittany continues, her thumbs stroking over bruised skin. "I left and when I was sitting on that plane, I realized that I had to make a choice." Her voice is soft and easy now, and even though Santana's still hesitant about where this is leading, she has to admit it calms her a little. "I could either spend my time flying between Grantsville and Chicago, screwing up my job and pissing off you and my friends, or I could do something permanent about it."

Cocking her head to the side, Santana frowns at the girl. "Do something permanent about it?"

Brittany nods slowly, sucking in her lips and inhaling deeply through her nose. "I could break up with you," she starts and Santana's heart leaps up into her throat, the tears pooling in her eyes at the thought of the blonde breaking up with her but Brittany's right there, forcing her to look at her again and breathing heavier than before. "No, listen, Santana," she says, desperation in her tone and Santana brings her eyes back up, willing herself not to break down right here. "I could either do that... or I could move here and be with you."

All the pieces slowly begin fitting together and Santana's heart begins calming down, her pulse no longer roaring in her ears, but a small smile tugging at the corner of her lips.

"You could move here?" She echoes, trying not to get too ahead of herself as it'll only hurt more if she's wrong.

Brittany's face splits into a quick grin and she nods. "Or I could move here," she repeats and shifts forward, their bodies pressing against each other and faces now impossibly close. Santana's hands instantly fall to her hips, fingers curling around her jacket. "And so I chose that."

It takes all words away from Santana's brain and she lets the decision sink in. Shit. Brittany's actually here, and she's actually fucking _moving _here. Though as her thoughts process, she realizes something and can't stop herself from speaking up.

"Your friends..." She draws off, thinking about Quinn and Sam. "And your job..." She adds on, just as breathless.

Okay, yeah, she's fucking ecstatic that Brittany's moved here, or is moving here, but Santana doesn't want to be the reason Brittany loses her friends and her job. She can't do that. She loves Brittany with everything she has but she won't be responsible for destroying the rest of her life. In fact, she loves her too much to do that.

_Fuck._

"My friends understand," Brittany continues, softly, removing a hand to stroke back a lock of dark hair. "I talked to Quinn about it and she told me to follow my heart," she shrugs and drops her eyes again, meeting Santana's. "And it led me back to you."

"But your job..."

"I can get a new one," the blonde replies like it's the simplest thing in the world. "Even if it's working here in Puck's bar, or helping Mrs. Williamson down in the grocery store," she pauses to smile at Santana and shrug. "It doesn't matter. I just wanna be with you."

It may not solve all their problems, and they still have a lot to talk about, but for now it'll do. Because it hits her, really blindsides her that this is serious and this is happening. Brittany loves her and is moving to Grantsville, the shittiest place since Shitsville because she wants to be with Santana. She's giving up her life for love, and even though Santana's pretty much against that, she can't fight how great it feels to have someone value her that much. To accept that someone loves her _that _much.

So she wraps her arms around the blonde girl and pulls her into a hug. Long arms wind around her neck and she closes her eyes as their bodies press together fully, her knees almost buckling as a familiar warmth spreads throughout her body and head swims with Brittany's scent. She can't deny it; she's missed this girl so much. It was like half of her was missing, like she wasn't fully there and now she has Brittany back, their bodies pressed together for the first time in over a month and it feels too fucking good that she lets her eyes flutter shut, all the pain and ache from her bruises and gashes seep from her mind as she revels in their reunion.

Though too soon, Brittany breaks the hug, but doesn't move her body, just keeps her arms around Santana's neck and faces close together as she speaks. "But you have to _let _me love you, San," she breathes, her breath hot against her face. "And at some point you're going to have to trust me."

"Britt," Santana starts, closing her eyes, clenching her jaw and dropping her head a little. This is one of those issues they have to talk about because she knows an apology won't fix everything. She does trust Brittany, she really does and she wants to tell her but she doesn't know how it'll convince her. "I do trust you, I just—" All of a sudden, she stops short and tilts her head, an idea suddenly springing to mind. "Will you come with me somewhere?

It's a swift change of conversation and Brittany blinks, fair brows knitting together in the middle of her forehead. Still, she nods and Santana takes in a deep breath, moving away and hating herself that she didn't kiss her whilst she could as she slides her hand down the blonde girls arm, finding her fingers and letting her own slides through the gaps there. Then she shoots a smile at Brittany, who offers a trusting one back and Santana leads them out the door of the bar, into the cold and stops on the porch, eyes searching around the snow and houses until she finds Puck and Shelby, standing beside Puck's truck, talking intently.

"Shelby?" Santana calls, her body suddenly thrumming with nerves and heart racing inside her chest. "Can you come over here, please?"

The older woman looks to Puck but nods, kissing him quickly on the cheek as she comes over, her pace steady and hands clasped in front of her body. She climbs the small step on to the porch to join them and shakes her head, freeing the white flecks of snow from her hair before smiling warmly at both of them.

"Have you two girls made up?" She asks and Santana laughs a little, her head turning when Brittany says, "we're getting there," and squeezes her hand reassuringly. "Good."

Santana purses her lips into an 'o' shape and blows out, throat thickening as she thinks of what she's about to do. "Shelby, I'd like you to officially meet someone."

Shelby smiles, her eyes flitting to Brittany and Santana feels the significance of this moment as blue eyes flicker to her, Brittany's face suddenly turning very serious because this is a formal introduction to Santana's family. It may not be blood, but blood doesn't mean family and as far as she's concerned, Shelby _is_ her family. (Bar Puck, but he's more like a perverted second cousin.) Shelby one of the most important aspects in Santana's life and now Santana's introducing her to another most important aspect of her life: Brittany.

"Brittany Susan Pierce," she starts, using her other hand to reach across and pull the blonde girl forward gently, before she looks to Shelby. "I'd like you to _officially_ meet Shelby Corcoran."

Shelby steps forward, her eyes gleaming and Santana lets her eyes drift to Brittany just for a second, only to find tears streaming from the blondes face as she shakes hands with Shelby, officially being introduced because right now, all three of them—hell, even Puck probably knows—how damn significant this moment is because this isn't just a first for Santana, but this is a first for Shelby, and Brittany, and this is the securing of their relationship because yeah, sure, they still have their problems and are going to have to work to get back to what they were, but this is solidifying their future. This is Santana telling Brittany that she trusts her with all her heart, that she _loves _her with all her heart and that she wants her to stay in her life. Forever.

"Brittany," Shelby starts, her eyes darting to Santana and back to blue eyes once more, both of her hands now cupping Brittany's left one. She takes in a deep breath and the most honest and loving of smiles comes on her face as she says, "Welcome to the family."

And even though they may not be family right now, this meeting between Shelby and Brittany is a promise that they will be. Because Santana Lopez is head over heels in love with Brittany Pierce and always will be.

And because Brittany saved Santana when she didn't know she needed to be saved, and because Santana saved Brittany right back.

/

**Read through this like three times, but I'm tired and so I know I will have made mistakes. But overall, not entirely happy with the ending but hey, it's the best I could do right now so I hope you enjoyed and please leave a review if you can! If not, thanks for reading once again and hugs to you all for being awesome!**


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